While life burns

While life burns 
I remember the days—not so long ago—
where we built in our daily lives 
the utopia we dream of today

I hear a new world.
Remembering an old world.

I remember the days of circle time and talking,
A loaf of bread and aged cheese
Days of work and play 

The days when humans listened to the earth, honored the wind, and respected fire.

In the days when water was sacred, the sky was a compass, and natural cycles guarded time

The days of simplicity, 
of humanity 
of humility 
of honesty.

I fly to these days 
with the longing of someone who remembers what once was, 
with the hope of those who walk toward what will be, with the blindness of those who pretend to see
on the word of someone who knows nothing

A crushing nostalgia strikes the chest. 

The helplessness of seeing the Earth and memory burn

Absurdity laid bare before the eyes of the world: war, hunger, and silence
Fire and ashes 
Loneliness and isolation 

And at the same time, 
I bring back and remember the days—not so long ago—when we built the utopia we dreamed of yesterday into our everyday lives.

I remember the days of circle time and talking, 
A loaf of bread and aged cheese
Days of work and play 

Days when simplicity, humanity, humility, and honesty have colored space and time, have colored the sky of this temple. 

Days when the Earth whispered its secrets to us so we could gather medicines, when we honored and asked water for its presence, and asked the wind for mercy.

Days of witnessing the birth of the power of fire, witnesses of the lightning bolt that crosses the compass sky, falls on the mountain, and turns what was once life into death.

Days when everyday life is dressed in the pulse that changes the course of life

Thank you for being seed, root, stem, flower, and fruit. 

Because on days when pain burns, hope is drawn in our hands.