The Hour and Beliefs of Man

Posted by on 03.13.10 | 3 Comments
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“You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour.”

Now you must go back and tell people that this is the Hour.”

Elders Oraibi, Arizona Hopi Nation

The transition is happening. The beliefs of man are the root cause. The root cause of genocide, the root cause of war. The root cause of environmental plunder, the mourning of the whales. It is the beliefs of man, the beliefs of man.

I awoke this morning and the sky was shining. New birdsong graced the dappled branches of the pines, and the raining down of sunlight was gentle on the barely perceptible breeze. The children were drawing pictures at the dining room table. A house, the sun. A family of stick figurines. A map to treasure, always to treasure. I washed a few dishes, drank some tea, fed the dog, stared through the window. Out there it was quiet, a clean quiet, the kind you want to roll around in and bathe naked, just to wash off all the other stuff that you always knew you didn’t need anyway.

What will the day bring? I begin to wonder about details- the accounting, groceries at the store, next weekend. This task and that, this email and phone call, a scheduling inconsistency. What I really want to do is walk in the woods, pray on the pinnacle of the mountain, leave tobacco for the earth and write poetry. But then there is the bank account. I really must do something about the bank account. A pang of fear, a buckling of sustenance. Fear of sustenance racking synapses in my brain. But I want to live! With the pulsating, weeping earth, the birdsong, the mountain, the rain. I want to live! But what will happen tomorrow if this thing and the other thing and the thing over there- don’t change?

The breakfast is ready and I pour it into bowls. The children and the dog and their wide earnest eyes so, utterly, bountiful and there. This is blasphemy, and I know it. This worry and fear and living in the fretting mind is a dying way. How can I look around here at the children and sunlight, the glimmering heartache pouring through the vessel of unparalleled global change, and worry for my sustenance, worry that I actually might not be okay. This is blasphemy and I know it, and the more that I know it the more the dappled sunlight falling from the trees smiles at me, and the more I allow myself to be washed by this holy rain.

Check out David’s original guest post on the VTH here. It talks about his new book, hot off the press: The Way Home.

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