People, people everywhere,
Wake up and look around.
Where are we, as people,
Upon this planet,
Our forgotten ground?

Hear the quiet whisper of Earth
Falling forever with the Moon
Into the depths of the Sky
Toward the Sun, never reaching
The light that showers down upon us;

Greet each day without shame
With the same
Joy of Earth as it savors
The embrace of the Sun.

Love also our reflection in the Moon,
Neglecting not memories of death and dying,
But sleeping the whole night through without word—
And so seeing silently,
Listening to the wisdom of the world.

Here we are, not as aliens
Upon the surface of Earth,
But flowers blooming from Her soil,
Seeding future faces She can only dream.

People, people everywhere,
Lay down and close your eyes.
Bid peace to colors of light,
To shapes of shadow;
Collect instead our own minds eye.

Search the sea for the infinite epiphany
Whos inspiration lifts the water to the stars.
They drink their death and all turns dark
Until our probing I lures us ashore.

Vast spaces give us room to soar,
But only particular faces
Remind us of home.
Home is where we always are,
The place that holds us near.

Like the sounds of all our names,
The call of home is heard
Not with many ears,
But as solitary beings.

Home is here before there,
And so everywhere at once,
Its fire making many of one,
And its love creating one of many.
So found, home tells no time.

A new age is being born from the ashes of a corpse consumed in the fire fueled by demonic dreams of animals gone made.

These crazed beasts foresaw the future, and in fear of death, harnessed the rhythms of the stars to grow the seeds that fed empires and sailed ships across continental seas in search of gold–that hallucinated heirloom who’s the reason history is told, its books bought and burned, its wars won and lost at all.

In the age anew, the luster of gold will have returned to its source in the sun, whose generous warmth provides the funds which powers all our lives.

The sickness of the human species is the shame that rises in her soul as the fate of his story is told.

An animal with words is an angel being born.

At first, the creature’s hair is shed, and then, within its head, the tree of life spreads its branches to better receive the light of the world.

This revelation leads man on a quest to slay the dragon whose blood he does not realize pumps also through his own body, and whose fire is the same passion with which his own heart beats.

Man has crucified himself upon the cross of his culture, made the earth in the mechanical image of his own controlling mind.

But he has heard her song again beyond the grave, and the new age resounds with their remarriage.

The earth may be drained, her oceans ravaged, her forests in ruin; but the love of being human after dying as man can save her from his story of conquest.

Out of the pregnant tomb of a race of men is coming a few whose conscience pulls them through the darkness of death to feel the love the light of the sun has for our soul.

Growing toward the light, like the plants of the earth, the humans whose hearts glow with the love of the sun will make heaven out of history and redeem the world of its woes.