A pandemic
sweeps the globe;
humanity’s
hidden fears
unearthed by
invisible intelligence.
Fire finds
the underbrush
of two centuries
of indifference
and ravages
our collective carelessness.
In the sun-obscured
blood orange
darkness,
we cough
ashes of despair
as we are forced
to face the truth
we desperately
try to mask.
If we don’t change
our ways,
we will secure
our own demise.
Somewhere
seemingly beyond reach,
politicians,
those marionettes
of greedy ghosts,
bend truth
to feed self-serving
fiscal agendas.
Profits
trump
people
and a multi-arrayed
beautiful diversity
fractures into
fictitious clans.
The startled herd
divides.
Delusion accuses delusion
and the proverbial ignorance
of “right” and “wrong”
foments hysteria,
prodding
frazzled factions
toward aggression.
Quietly,
in the hearth
of timeless wisdom,
sages silently slice
vegetables,
massage fresh herbs,
and grind fragrant spices
by mortar and pestle.
In the transparent steam
rising from their pot
myriad faces emerge.
Each one is hungry
for something.
Without words,
without bureaucratic bulletins,
without double-blind studies,
without media-repeated messages,
the sages know
what each one
needs.
Without ever
having been told,
they know.
How to heal
the stinging wound.
How to satiate
the aching hunger.
How to restore
the exquisite harmony.
Soup!
The flame of their heart
-- unmoved by external events --
does not destroy,
but simmers
and transforms.
Each sacred ingredient
becomes broth;
nourishment
for body and spirit.
Their table
is an altar.
Supper
is a ceremony
to which
every being
under the one roof
of infinite sky
is invited.
People
of every color,
shape,
size,
and creed
return home,
circle together
around the
great cauldron,
and savor life
from Source.
Nourishment