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our
cold hearts. We are safe from wisdom here. We have money and highways
and malls. We have universities and basketball and cheerleaders.
I write this to warn you. You are not safe. The Lion is loose. Your life is at stake.
You
may be asked to be kind to a stranger—the one with unclean hands. You
may be asked to visit the imprisoned, tend the sick, give your
belongings to the poor, even deny yourself..and not just on Sundays
only. Beware. The time is soon upon us. The hour is near. The Master
cometh....Even at the door.
You
see...normal days are like this: Darkness is turned to light. The blind
receive their sight. Wrongs are made right. And hardly anyone is amazed.
Feedback
(continued)
TIME FOR A POEM?
Jim,
I
wanted to respond to The Dirty Coal Caper story, but it's no use.
Nothing will change. Greed trumps grace and Coal is king. I thought
differently until I visited Monument Valley, Utah. I was looking for
some John Wayne scenery, but the haze from the coal-fired power plants
was so thick that much of that infamous territory was obscured. I was
aghast. Especially when I heard that the polluters are operated by
Native Americans. When it gets that far, it's gone too far.
And
I wanted to respond to your article on population, The Obligations of
Death Must be Observed, but I ran the numbers once. It's been years
now, but I don't imagine the situation is yet overwhelming. Give each
person on the planet 36 square feet—enough to reach out and not touch
anyone else—and you could fit every one of us in Harney County, Oregon.
It's not a matter of too many people, it's a matter of incredibly poor
management of resources (spell that G-R-E-E-D.)
So,
I figured I'd just write a poem. We're victims of our own lust and
greed, and since we aren't willing to change, at least we could sing
about it. How about a Zephyr poetry section? Like this...
Don Sturgill
Appalachia, USA
STILES THE...."PATRIOT?"
Dear Mr. Stiles,
Thanks
for your take on ... things... as you perceive them; I perceive them
the same way. I too look outside the continental borders for some
semblance of absence of lunacy, or misplaced wishful thinking. Its
nice to see someone see things the same way, and to recognize in the
tone of your miscontentment the germ of true patriotism. There is
something charming and disarming about someone who will charge at
windmills, and make no excuse for the tactic.
If you'd like to get more perspective, and have the time for it, I remain your servant, sir.
This Day
Ron Hindman
Palisade, Colorado
(swat!)
sealed with what remain sof my one remaining testicle
Normal
days are like this: Darkness is turned to light. The blind receive
their sight. Wrongs are made right. Yes, normal days are like this, but
few of us are amazed.
Here
is what happens: We become accustomed to the miraculous and lose the
magic. Life becomes just another day, another dollar, another trip
south. Another, "Who cares?"
Here
is what happens: Those who are most precious to us become our enemies.
Those to whom we owe the most, we treat the worst. The television news
show is more urgent than the voice of a child wanting to play.
Answering e-mail is more important than saying, "I love you."
We
begin to disappear, long before death overtakes us. We become cogs in
the machine, zombies rolling out of bed, consumers of plastic toys and
throw-away containers. Our big concern is gas mileage. Our main
ambition is money in the bank. Our over-riding emotion is fear... for
we cannot face the reality of our non-existence. Happy hour is God on
Sunday. This is what happens to the best of us.
Perhaps
someone tries to warn us, but we scold them, we chastise them, they
must be silenced, status quo is the way to go, it's always been done
like this. We shut them away quickly so that their disturbing ideas are
silenced. No one visits them. The guards become infected and must be
replaced. They get early retirement, or are given other positions of
promise in return for their silence. Shhhhh. No one must know.
Nothing
is sacred. We want sanitary preachers in clean suits and not too bold
ties. We will gladly give them our money, if they continue to leave us
alone. Let us wilt and die. Some of them become show-men. This is a
helpful diversion. A room-full ofimposters can hide the Truth and allow
us to believe our chosen lie. We can pretend that all lunacy is equal.
We need not listen with our hearts,
We need...We want....
WE DEMAND!!!
That you send us your FEEDBACK comments.
For Pity's Sake, Do Something unique.
EXPRESS an HONEST OPINION.
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