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pete
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when god weeps silently alone, in the dark, shuddering with such an intensity that those who stand guard at his doors cannot help but fear for the universe, what, then, do we feel?
the silent nights are broken by cars, buses, and the omniscient humming of electronics and lights. the stars are blotched out by lamps meant to keep us safe. and the moon hides behind the high rise, because only there is she free.
the gentle breeze through the tall grasses and skeleton trees doesn't touch these nights, the cries of the night birds and bats are lost to the roads and highways. the heavenly harmonics that our long lost ancestors celebrated as proof of god's own perfection no longer strike a chord with our souls.
we even forget that we live in space, on space, with space. electronically transposing the self over the whole we lack an awareness of place, and slip between the sewer grates. no wonder god cries.
but we still live, we still love, and the strong still remember the eleventh commandment. there's struggle, both mundane and dead serious, there's hope, both misplaced and with salvific power, and, most of all, there's air to breath and our place is waiting if only we opened our eyes, our ears, our minds.
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