if all the seas were one sea, what a great sea that would be
oh sniper-rifle man, oh sniper-rifle man. i wish i had the tools, the tape and bandages and anti-inflammatory ointment, the tranquilizer darts, the perfect love, the lottery ticket, the birthday cake candle that could mend your wound.
when your shoulder surgery was done, and you tried to climb off the table in anesthetized slow motion, blearily frantic for someone to hand you your gun, i started worrying about you, and it seems it'll be at least a few days before you wear out of my consciousness. until then, i pray:
mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
but i frown on asking impossible requests from deities (even country-western deities, who may use a more flamboyant hand with the blessings). praying isn't going to stop the urban holocaust, the rural seige, or the military. it doesn't work that way. back to letting go of the idea that a prayer has to be a big thing, has to get something done... back to the level of birthday-candle wishes.
so, sniper-rifle man, i pray your shoulder stops hurting you, setting alight the red-hot circuit that rings the alarm in the vietnam of your mind, making you blindly reach for your weapon. i am praying that you forge a new pathway for your pain - since pain is one thing we're guaranteed more of, as life grows long - one that does not spell assault but instead calls for pity, and mercy, and care. even of yourself.
reverb: a prayer that makes a ripple, rocking all the little boats of the personal meanings of suffering.
when your shoulder surgery was done, and you tried to climb off the table in anesthetized slow motion, blearily frantic for someone to hand you your gun, i started worrying about you, and it seems it'll be at least a few days before you wear out of my consciousness. until then, i pray:
mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
but i frown on asking impossible requests from deities (even country-western deities, who may use a more flamboyant hand with the blessings). praying isn't going to stop the urban holocaust, the rural seige, or the military. it doesn't work that way. back to letting go of the idea that a prayer has to be a big thing, has to get something done... back to the level of birthday-candle wishes.
so, sniper-rifle man, i pray your shoulder stops hurting you, setting alight the red-hot circuit that rings the alarm in the vietnam of your mind, making you blindly reach for your weapon. i am praying that you forge a new pathway for your pain - since pain is one thing we're guaranteed more of, as life grows long - one that does not spell assault but instead calls for pity, and mercy, and care. even of yourself.
reverb: a prayer that makes a ripple, rocking all the little boats of the personal meanings of suffering.
1 Comments:
how can we learn to love the violent?
to ask that others embrace us, need we not reach out to them?
is there one answer?
in class a friend says, "the golden rule is from THE BIBLE?"
in reply, "yes, the new testament. but it's no different than what the buddha says."
friend: "new testament, old message."
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