These are the times of many voices
Encircled by crumbling fences and by an encroaching wildness, without maps and without answers, we will have to improvise if the sun is to shine on us tomorrow. The world needs you to fly, to rush into virgin fields and, with hands outstretched, pollinate the flowers; to walk out on that career path that everyone feels is so important to have and spend time listening to the throbbing melodies of your own heart; to witness the sun rising as if for the first time; to experience unbridled fear at the precipice of life and realize you’ve been anointed; to hug a confused stranger whose brisk steps on the concrete pavements of our civilization is his only claim to meaning; to wait for guidance from a tree; to protest carbon markets and the extinction of our earth-siblings by standing still in the rain; to do something preposterous; and, to tell us why one and one could equal sixteen. These are the days of ritual, of changing parameters, of paradox, and of humble courage. These are the days of realizing our best answers are inadequate and our best questions incomplete. These are the days we must fall apart to become larger. These are the times of many voices.