Tuesday, August 29, 2006


And now for something completely different: Here's a poem... I will have a story about this tomorrow:

Lord Sirra Tocks

What is your condition? Fed up?
There is hope...
I know of a release, an exit.
My condition was once as is yours. Not any more.

Nothing is going as planned?
Is it love, money, age, or life in general?
Soma isn't the answer.
Soil is.

What is soil?
"Dirt," you say. But dirt is a filthy
substance. Dirt is the many sins which
you so many times wanted to be rid of.
Dirt is that dark secret,
that if the world found out,
life would surely be ruined.
For no one can live with his dirt lying
about, as on a rug, or a Sunday-shirt.
A stain that never comes out, no matter what
you spray on it.
People tell you to cleanse yourself. But you can't!
A stain never comes out.
No matter how many times you scald yourself.
The water won't get hot enough to get rid of the dirt.
A stain never comes out.
Dirt is filth.

Soil is definitely not dirt. No, soil nurtures.
With soil, one can grow, as does a plant.
Reaching and growing toward the sky.
This is not some false earthen state-of-being.
This is when peace comes.
This is when love comes.
This is when happiness comes.
This is when all things man has ever wanted finally come.
Not until then has he got any of these things.
When he has soil.
When he is soil.
When soil is he.
Only when one has soil can he soar. Without bound.
To the farest reaches of infinity, if he so desires.
He can do all this, whenever he needs to.
He has no more obligation.
He can soar; he can fly; he can live.
Only then is he born to the world.
All the rest is just prenatal teachings. Preparing him for
his new life.
His life with the soil.
His life of the soil.

And when one reaches the sky, as I did so recently,
He looks back and sees the struggles of the others.
He sympathizes with their condition.
His condition was identical to theirs.
He tries to tell them.
But he cannot intervene.
He can only try to persuade.
Perhaps he need not even try. They never listen.
Perhaps their happiness will come.
But for most it never does.
(It never did for me.)

Leave your sadness.
Leave your guilt.
Leave your jealousies, disasters, and sorrows.
Leave it all behind.
I have a way out.
I have an exit.

I invite you to soar.
I invite you to grow.
I invite you to learn.
Learn, grow, and soar with me.
We can roam and fly and glide. Anywhere, anytime.

The soil is fertile now. Just ready.
I invite you to join me,
In the soil...

© Copyright 2005-2014, Scott E. Harris. All Rights Reserved.
Please do not reproduce or copy without the permission of the author.