Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Soil

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

SOIL
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.
Never.
Because
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...

4 comments:

The Dogfather said...

Something in there screams anagram, but all I can come up with is:
DARK COLOR STIRS
ROCK LORD STAIRS

And those don't seem right. I'll just wait and see.
And I started on your name... but there are too many bad things that can be made. We'll leave it with these two:
STARTS CHOIR
OSTRICH TSAR

You've never raised the big birds have you?

Sandi said...

After all of that - I can hardly wait to hear "the rest of the story"

JamesF said...

I think Ken is on to something. I'm not going to try and figure it out, but if I had to guess, it would be

RAD SKIRT COLORS

And I only used that because I know he should be getting the skirt he ordered in Scottland delivered soon. That and the text about dirt made me think of Scott's Traitorous family history that he uncovered. I highly doubt this is correct though.

Scott said...

Man, you guys amaze me. Very creative.

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