Because I Believe In Life....

[image of Afghanistan refugee camp taken by photojournalist Kate Holt~
see kateholt.com]

[I wrote this poem in 1998, but feel the need to repost it today, after a weekend of reading postings by all who participated in the Blogblast for Peace, at http://www.mimilenox.com/. Most especially the story of the Iraqi refugee family being helped by one young woman on one street in one city in the United States. Allie  saw the family was in need and did not turn away. She extended her hand in friendship in a truly remarkable way and turned things around for this one confused, displaced family. This story is told at http://www.watergatesummer.blogspot.com/

Through telling this family's story, Allie got them help. People from all over began sending warm blankets and coats. The family is blooming as a result of this friendship. I believe people do want to help, when they can address a specific need. When we are hit with huge numbers, we feel helpless, as if nothing we can do would make any difference.

I read that five million Iraqi families have been displaced by war, and my own brain glazed over. I had to jerk myself awake and go back and read it again. Five million families, just like this one family, whose story so touched me. A family to whom one hand reaching out  made a HUGE difference. Allie is one fantastic human being.

So here is this poem again, this sunny November morning, with apologies to those of you who have already read it. I continue to believe in life, no matter what.]

August, 1998

Yesterday my sister called me up
to say they were dropping bombs
on Afghanistan:
peasants bombarded under a morning sky
another slice of toxic political pie

Instead of turning on the news
I walked the beach -
dogs frolicked in the waves
with loopy grins,
as another radiant west coast day begins
All we can do is send out
love and light,
no limit to how far
our love can reach

A young woman,
huddled under quilts,
says her life "sucks"
while outside her bedroom door
a little miracle
with jam on his face
needs to know
the world's
a happy place
A child of hope
striving to survive
his mother's pain
living childhood days
of fleeting grace
that will never
come again,
waits for her
to look outward
and see
we are all part of
the glorious mystery,
life unfolding
when we stop
withholding

This morning I read
a polar ice cap
the size of Connecticut
is slowly breaking
and when it does,
whether three years
or five hundred
in the making,
the sea will rise up
in a single night
sweeping the coast
away
that's what they say

But all we ever have
is this one day
to be grateful for
each moon
each morning star,
each song
that opens doors
to who we are -
We all travel so far
to find that place
of love
within
where we finally
begin
to now we're not alone
and let love guide
our footsteps
on the journey
home

My friend is
dreaming of babies~
a little soul is asking
to come through-
She wonders
how can she bring
a child
all sweet and new
into a world
so sadly helter-skelter,
so askew?

Because I believe in life
and life believes in life,
I say -
we open our eyes
to miracles
every day,
are only asked
to give back
what we can
along the way

This afternoon
a young couple
playing music
in the summer sun
set all our toes
a-tapping
to the beat-
gracefully, two women
started dancing
on the village street
We all were smiling
because life is fun
These are the moments
when we most feel
as one
each bringing gifts
to the universe's table
as we are able

We all want life
our souls all long
to fly
We bring our babies
into a world
of starshine
and blue sky
of song and wonder
rainbows
love and laughter
and they will thank us
after
for giving them
the chance
to love and live
to share the joys
we know,
give our souls
a chance to grow
while teaching us
how much
we have
to give

No matter
what is happening
everywhere,
life holds
a million gifts
we still
can share
as simple
as the sun
warm on our faces,
as profound as love
in the most unlikely places-
love enough
to plunge our souls in,
fill ourselves
right up
with plenty
spilling over
to fill
our children's cup

Oh how they teach us,
as we share each day,
that the love that makes
us happiest
is the love
we give away
In them is our re-birth-
we send them forth
with love too deep to say
trusting that
the beauty of the earth
will carry them
the rest of the way

Two Poems Against War

The war in Afghanistan - photo from yeahisaidthat.com

People on the planet

are on the move.

Fleeing political persecution

below

and bombs above,

it's hard to prove

which is which,

but it all must feel the same.

It all means flight;

the faces all wear pain;

row upon row

of displaced people

huddled against

the cold of night

or walking in the rain,

holding hands and helping,

foul weather friends,

they straggle

across borders,

to line up under tarps

and wait for this

nightmare

of human folly

to end.

The bombs rain down

"to keep their country safe"

the Suits all say.

But, their homes

in rubble around them,

under an exploding sky,

they can probably be forgiven

for not appreciating the "help"

or understanding why.

Three American lives

are imprisoned

and at risk

and governments mobilize

to talk,

all grave of face,

while thousand upon thousand

other human lives

are for years

displaced,

the "casualties of war",

another war

to Keep Freedom Safe

but safe for who?

As if we ever knew.

How did it come to be

that dropping bombs

became the way

to peace?

Old women

weeping in the mud

on my tv,

their normal lives

suspended

for the duration,

Tomorrow a questionable part

of the equation,

Today

a nightmare

dreamed by

an entire nation,

from which they cant

awaken.

People on the planet

are on the move.

Once more

long lines of

the dispossessed

cross borders

into lands that

do not want them.

Memories of

World War Two

come back to haunt them.

It seems the more technology

we gain,

the more shared pain,

the less we understand

the sacredness

of living,

and our true purpose

here

which is for giving.

Across blue springtime skies

jets soar like swallows

dropping bombs

in all the hidden hollows

that on-screen

are portrayed

like video games

the Big Boys play,

that carefully do not show

the human lives

scrabbling among the rubble

down below.

From space,

we look so pretty:

blue and white,

mountain ranges and water

spread about for our delight.

The bombs,

and all the misery,

are ours.

War is Man's invention:

the Suits, in all their might,

juggling their powers,

have created

one more disaster

that can never

be made right.

From above,

the Divine Source

that gave us

life on earth

must regret

entrusting to us solely

a gift of so much worth,

must be waiting for us to

finish ourselves off

so life can start again

somewhere more holy.

**********************

Deep in the

hidden caverns

of Mother Earth

moving from place

to distressed place

are Peaceful Beings

whose soul/sole purpose

is to beam Peace

upon the Planet

keeping it in

its natural cycles

and rotations

while other men

play war games

with the population.

These Beings

focus all their

energy

on peace

to help the centre hold

against the onslaught

of human error

that topples life

in place upon place

into distress and terror

across the embattled face

of Mother Earth,

weeping under

the crash of bombs

-peace by innuendo?-

released by young men

pushing buttons

the way that only yesterday

they played

Nintendo.

It is all human folly,

the result of a world

gone mad

pursuing the Myth of More:

more Things,

more Land, more Power,

from a world

of finite resources.

We squeeze and squeeze:

just a little bit more,

just let me have mine

and then we'll talk

conservation:

up ahead somewhere

other generations

can pull in their belts.

Just this little bit more

wont hurt,

no one will even

feel it.

The irony being

that in five minutes

the sky can rain down bombs

and we'll be forced to

hit the road

with only the clothes

on our backs,

all our Stuff

reduced

to what we can pack.

Bombs that rain so

Freedom can prevail?

Do the refugees believe?

Or do they flee the bombs

as much as they wish to be free?

Politics mere empty chatter

to the mass of humanity

that's seething

across the barren plains,

as sheer survival

boils down to

simply breathing.

The placid earth

waits silently below

for man to get a grip

and let his inner guidance flow.

For somewhere deep inside

we Know.