The earth is a potential paradise, but man is turning it
into a noisy, smelly, poisonous sump hole.
And even as he is told what is happening, or sees
what is happening, he does little else than make
excuses and show a niggardly helplessness.
He sees his degenerate way of life as something
progressive and necessary. He sees it also as
inevitable.
He devises every means of tolerating it and
conditions his thinking to its acceptance.
A precious type of reality
is a simple, detached consciousness
when one is at rest:
where there is no imposition from without,
where there is no needless mental generation from within,
where there is a generous and wholesome awareness,
and where one’s nature is in full of harmony
with its surroundings.
I let that particular moment pass,
but I can recall it.
I can bring it back
for a spell.
I wish that I
could live it over
again,
in the full—
with what I know now.
I wish that I could grace it
with more love,
contribute more to it,
milk it for all of its beauty,
its setting,
its circumstance.
Let’s dance.
Let’s recover
some sense of rhythm
that we had in past times
and past ages
and let’s dance.
Let’s dance,
beautifully, artfully, creatively,
in any manner or style
that comes to us,
at any time
and in any place,
on any pretext,
with fire, passion, vigor, and love.
Let’s dance
by ourselves, with others,
for ourselves, for others,
to our own rhythm,
to the rhythm of others.
Let’s dance!
Far Beyond Words 