We . . . Must Try To

When Making An Axe Handle The Pattern Is Not Far Off.

All That We Did Was Human, Stupid, Easily Forgiven, Not Quite Right.

Zen Aims At Freedom But Its Practice Is Disciplined.

Lay Down These Words Before Your Mind Like Rocks. Placed Solid, By Hands In Choice Of Place, Set Before The Body Of The Mind In Space And Time: Solidity Of Bark, Leaf, Or Wall Riprap Of Things: Cobble Of Milky Way. Straying Planets, These Poems, People, Lost Ponies With Dragging Saddles -- And Rocky Sure-foot Trails. The Worlds Like An Endless Four-dimensional Game Of Go. Ants And Pebbles In The Thin Loam, Each Rock A Word A Creek-washed Stone Granite: Ingrained With Torment Of Fire And Weight Crystal And Sediment Linked Hot All Change, In Thoughts, As Well As Things.

I Pledge Allegiance To The Soil Of Turtle Island, And To The Beings Who Thereon Dwell One Ecosystem In Diversity Under The Sun With Joyful Interpenetratio N For All.