And, These are the People

Empty page
my old friend
inviting me back
holding the space
awaiting spirit to rise
within me and take to
this earth walk once again.

witnessing of late the agony
of living in a large institution.
people moved from one space
to another, squeezed like rats in a box.

with strangers, they spend their days,
people who know not of their dreams
or fears or inhibitions or desires...and
who are told they are not supposed to know
because that would violate the oh-so-stringent
rules we have crafted to survive this unnatural
human experience

Hiding in offices with windows and chairs,
elated at having personal space when
all those 'out there' don't.
Knowing that sets me apart from 'them'.
Wanting to believe it sends a clear message to that,
I matter.

And yet, this office binds me to an agreement
that, somehow, I will manage the rabble at my door.
Somehow, I will get them to do the things that those
with nicer offices demand of me...in return for this space.

And, those in cubby-world?
Are they satisfied with their lot in life?
From whence comes their connection to
this place, these rules that bind us to waking
every day, doning the expected attire, stepping foot
into this 5x5 cubby to do....what...for what reason?

Rushing home now, at the strike of 5,
leaving behind that cramped cubby,
the dictates of someone who understands
nothing about interacting with human beings,
much less, how to create a space where they can thrive.

Shedding the costume, searching for, and hopefully finding
the real me, relieved that another day was survived
in this institution bearing the crown of one of the
highest achievements of humankind - learning,
where so little learning actually occurs,
where learning is judged like so many
pigs at a fair, the brightest, shiniest
one wins.  The rest go home.

And yet, for all its faults,
which I have only just begun
to list, there is something sacred
about this place, about the melee,
the struggle, the battles, the chaos...

It reminds me of the game we used to play,
intertwining our fingers and folding them
into the cup of our hands.  Chanting,
'this is the church, this is the steeple...'
Turning our hands inside out...
'and these are the people.'

And, these are the people.

I have witnessed, in my tenure at this place,
the basest of human qualities, greed, manipulation, lies,
efforts - some successful, some backfiring - to destroy others.

Two questions fill my heart as I bear witness to the
damage to human souls incurred by other human souls.
I wonder how I will allow it to affect me, for that will be my choice.
Will I allow it to grow the cynic in me, to fester anger and hatred
to those who abuse power and people, to develop the facile talent
of defense and offense against those who would plot my demise...?

Living in this raw, unadulterated state of human madness,
it's easy to fall prey to the base within me.  And, I have.
So lost can I become in it all that I forget
I am a spirit experiencing this world,
that I have a reason for being here,
and that the reason connects me to
the greatness that is within me

and that connects us all.

I want to step outside the melee
to remember, once again, the hope
that is humankind, the potential that
is the birthright of every, single person.

I want to open my heart to the potential
disguised in human drama, and free my mind
to create openings for spirit to create beauty
amidst our turmoil.

Opening my hands, the people shine forth,
bumpy and ragged, broken and wilting,
precious and sacred...all...
creating beauty.