The naked ape
in a lost world
sleeping the big sleep.
Proof of heaven a far memory,
reflections of Eden a secret history
forgotten.
Leaders led by visions of power
and lost horizons at play
in the garden of the gods,
turning the Earth
into a geography of nowhere.
Things fall apart
when you lose sight of the sacred pipe
and forget the celestial chorus within.
A year (and more) in the merde
rises like a tempest
blazes like an inferno
crushes like a crucible,
forging an initiation into
1984
or Revolution.
I choose the latter.
The healer’s manual is open to page 1
if we do the work.
We’re diving deep — and surfacing
and I’m growing big dreams,
having conversations with the gods
about possibility.
Are you awakening
a lively new image
for our world?
Erin Harris 