Abstract
Counter-magic failed. The tyranny of those who fear the amorphous flux and flow of emergent life Reigns over my hour's joy, turned dark, And constrains me to organize my own and children's energies in systems-boxes Which do not conform to life, But to their terror of its freedom, spontaneity, delight and sometimes anger, rage and violence. How to save myself and the children from such a subtle tyranny? Shall I walk away? Shall I say OK? Or search still for the potent counter-magic while feigning conformity, cooperation? When gods sent up the holy fire from Mauna Loa to part the wide Pacific and create new land, It emerged with all the vital energy from the organic Source. Same Source for all the words of man, Emerging in their own time, by their own plan. No accountant's numbers, charts and tables can predict the time, prescribe the time, proscribe their time, But counting is and the and a can only rob the poetry from language's holy flow, And rob the responsive essence from the dialogue. What is our part, my part?
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