Even as these words are proleptic for the nomad-listeners in the wilderness, so might they be for those unlanded nomads in the urban diaspora. Perhaps one day they, too, will know something about "landing" that we are so in danger of forgetting now. Yesterday, hatless and hutless, I walked alone in the meadows that roll under the escarpment of the Mohawk Mountain up here in the Hudson Valley where I have the good fortune to be living. Cows were grazing in an open field. Asters--- lavender, white, and purple--- were blooming by the road sides. Maples on fire and the first shed leaves drifting down. Milkweed silk was loose on the breeze, and I was alone in a vast silence under an unclouded blue sky.
I was stopped often by what surrounded me. I took it in. Took what in? Not the scenery, but the peace the land breathed out to me...I realized that the peace I felt was "the peace of earth." This is what is lost to so many. And I wondered if it is it possible for there to be political peace, social peace, unless one is touched by the primal peace that is the planet's gift to us two-legged primates? Natural peace is the experience of Mother Earth, enfolding us. She is calling the modern nomad to remember her. Come, feel the simple happiness that smiles to us from her incalculable consolations.
Dear Hutless and hatless peace pilgrim - thank you for sharing with us the poem of the peace of the earth under a fall sky, in radiance remembrance of happy solace. more. please.
Beautiful - to hear the message of the land we are living on - and living in. We have a land within that when it is in alignment with truth then we can hear the message and the song of the land around us. Peace. Peace. Peace. We are on gratitude and we are on gratitude. 🙏🙏
Even as these words are proleptic for the nomad-listeners in the wilderness, so might they be for those unlanded nomads in the urban diaspora. Perhaps one day they, too, will know something about "landing" that we are so in danger of forgetting now. Yesterday, hatless and hutless, I walked alone in the meadows that roll under the escarpment of the Mohawk Mountain up here in the Hudson Valley where I have the good fortune to be living. Cows were grazing in an open field. Asters--- lavender, white, and purple--- were blooming by the road sides. Maples on fire and the first shed leaves drifting down. Milkweed silk was loose on the breeze, and I was alone in a vast silence under an unclouded blue sky.
I was stopped often by what surrounded me. I took it in. Took what in? Not the scenery, but the peace the land breathed out to me...I realized that the peace I felt was "the peace of earth." This is what is lost to so many. And I wondered if it is it possible for there to be political peace, social peace, unless one is touched by the primal peace that is the planet's gift to us two-legged primates? Natural peace is the experience of Mother Earth, enfolding us. She is calling the modern nomad to remember her. Come, feel the simple happiness that smiles to us from her incalculable consolations.
Dear Hutless and hatless peace pilgrim - thank you for sharing with us the poem of the peace of the earth under a fall sky, in radiance remembrance of happy solace. more. please.
Beautiful - to hear the message of the land we are living on - and living in. We have a land within that when it is in alignment with truth then we can hear the message and the song of the land around us. Peace. Peace. Peace. We are on gratitude and we are on gratitude. 🙏🙏