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An American in Paradise
I was told to listen to Spirit.
I sat by the flowing water, But the ripples’ blurble Silenced any call Spirit might try to make. I built a wall that stopped the water to a trickle. Still, though still, no evidence of Spirit at all.
I moved to an open field of clover and listened. But the incessant buzz of the bee and fly, The cackle of the crickets and the snort of the toad Rendered it impossible to hear Spirit. I swapped the invisible invincible sting of poison For the very real (albeit brief) sting of the wasp And silenced the creatures of the field. Yet Spirit was not to be found there.
I sat by a stand of daisies in the woods. The cold wind shrieked amongst the trees; I shivered from the bones inside out, and Could not focus on hearing Spirit. The wolf’s bark silenced, furriered warmth regained, I cleared away the trees, the daisies, and Built great buildings that kept out the wind, Kept out the clouds, the thunder and the rain. I listened through the silence for Spirit, But Spirit did not call out my Name.
Why do you not talk to me, Spirit?
I went outside the building. A hummingbird flew by. The hummingbird asked “Why do you not hear Spirit?” I explained, “The noise was too omnipresent. How could I hear Spirit Over the roar of the river, Over the scream of the wind, Or the screech of the birds, The howling bark of the Wolf, The flutter of the moth, The buzziness of the insect, Or the blistering brightness of the clouds? Now all is silent, yet Spirit evades me still.”
The hummingbird paused a moment, As one does when in thought or sorrow, Then flitted away, never to be seen again.
Don “Orfeo” Rechtman |
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