Thursday, August 4, 2011

~~ Compassion called “LIFE” ~~


Angels must be confused by war.
Both sides praying for protection,
Yet someone always gets hurt.
Someone dies.
Someone cries so deep
And someone has his last laugh.

Who can they help?
Who can they clarify?
Whose mercy do they cast to the merciless?
No modest scream can be heard.
No stainless pain can be felt.
All is clear to angels
Except in war.

When I awoke to this truth,
It was from a dream I had last night.
I saw two angels conversing in a field
Of spirits rising like silver smoke.
The angels were fighting among themselves
About which side was right,
And which was wrong.
Who started the conflict?

Suddenly, the angels stilled themselves
Like a stalled pendulum,
And they shed their compassion
To the rising smoke
Of souls who bore the watermark of war.
They turned to me with those eyes
Fiery and glowing,
And all the pieces fallen
Were raised in unison,
Intertwined like the breath
Of flames in a furnace.

Nothing in war comes to destruction,
But the illusion of separateness.
I heard this spoken so clearly I could only
Write it down like a forged signature.
I remember the compassion,
Mountainous, proportioned for the universe.
I think a tiny fleck still sticks to me,
Like gossamer threads
From a spider's web.

And now, when I think of war,
I flick these threads to the entire universe,
Hoping they stick on others as they did me.
Knitting angels and animals
To the filament grace of compassion.
The reticulum of our skyward home.

Look well to this day,
For it and it alone is life.
In its brief course
Live all the essence of your existence:

The Glory of Growth
The Satisfaction of Achievement
The Splendor of Beauty

For yesterday is but a dream,
And tomorrow is but a vision.
But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness,
And every tomorrow a vision of hope...

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