A Reckoning

There must be meaning behind a will, there must be healing.
Night deepens but I cannot sleep,
a lily pond glows drowsy koi floating by
a moonlit walk in the park.
Is there a reason to feel the loss of so many I never knew,
did I help herd them to slaughter
my twisted heart pounding like artillery,
how did I not hear the screams — a world running away
and toward them,
I have never known shackles, handcuffs
a lynch mob-knot tightening
how do we not hear them running to us today
their losses and grief not obscure, simply actively ignored.

And what can I say to the One who watches
who unborn before all
brooded over water
set his face a light upon the sea, spoke stars into being?
“I know your face like a stranger’s on a train
one I remember but cannot place
perhaps you never were,
you are a fabrication of death and fear.”

but it would not satisfy.
There must be healing in his will, there must be meaning.

It was an intention I would nearly regret
a long reflection
looking into beginning-less time
for a swastika of love, a face dripping
redemptive blood, a man burning
under the Bodhi tree–
The monk sat in the middle of a Saigon street
motionless in meditation,
gas and jet fuel poured over him
he lit the match.
There must be healing in her will or there is no meaning.

 

 

RageAgainsttheMachineRageAgainsttheMachine            Rage Against the Machine

Facing History & Ourselves

The Swastika of Love

Buddhist Manji or Swastika

Take the Power Back. It’s your Right. Vote!