Marya Mann : Blog : This Is The Future - Beyond War

This is the Future - Beyond War

Aloha, Kakou! Love to us All!

We are so fortunate to live as we do. Yet the tragedies of our modern times weigh heavily on us all. We can stand for a ceasefire and paint peace flags all day long, but if we can’t move past the traumas of our collective heritage, unwinding and healing the traumatic memories of offenders who act out violently, we could remain stuck in a warring world. I’m a believer. I see us moving in wiser ways.

When friends and clients talk about wars around the globe, I often hear this: “I don’t know how people can be so violent and inhumane.” They could be talking about the Middle Eastern wars, the Ukrainian war, the War on Poverty, the War on Drugs, the War on the Middle Class, the War on Racism, or the most recent atrocity, the War on the Climate. Or the most obscene cruelty, the War on Children. When we step back a moment, we see the same dysfunctional human dynamics come into play.

I was thinking about these dynamics when I penned the following poem, THIS IS THE FUTURE. I hope you like it, a gift for the good hearts, the broken hearts, the regenerating hearts. Go and tell the neighbors.

Love you, Marya

THIS IS THE FUTURE

The soft grey gold of a cloudy sunrise
Shimmers up the slope of Hualalai Volcano.
Clouds say to the mountain,
“You are too dense. I need to get away from you.”
Says the mountain to the mist, “You are too wavering.
“You should be more like me. A nice solid form.”

Cloaked in the morning Sun,
The two old friends argue like faceless wanderers
Who hunt the past in widening gyres, chasing their own tails.
They only need to shift a little bit to sense they already have tails.
And better yet, the dramatic splendor
Of a picture-perfect love. No chase needed.

They could watch awestruck as the rains fall on the Earth.
Smell the air, resplendent with ozone and plant spores.
They could mingle cosmos and clay, sprout seeds, make an ecstasy.
But there they are, elderly neighbors, preaching to everyone,
“Love your neighbors,” but consumed by illusion.
Like the most powerful musical score in the world,
Sitting on the piano, refusing to play.

“You impede me,” one says. “You are unfit!”
“You are a candle,” says the other. “Unlit.”
One goes into a rage, runs for the fire.
The other says, “You blind me with your overblown brightness.”
“You are a hangover,” one claims.
“You are no fun,” the other laments.
They turn to look again, and see each other,
No longer all greed, reason, and selfish love.
“We’re not handling this right,” they say together.
Now, awake, they look yet again at the other
And discover there is no other.

One little shift, and droplets of water coil into a new aim,
Sudden gusts of power here and there,
Then the mountain and mist are dancing!
“I really love how you ground me,”
Says the cloud to the volcano.
“And I love how you sweep through the air,” says the Earth.
“Could your wings spread and carry me forever?”
“I can, I will, I do,” the mist whispers.
“If you give me space.”
A match made in heaven.

This is the future.
We start small, living in love, shimmering up the mountain.
Nobody said it would be easy or fast, the New Earth.
They only said it would be worth it, like giving birth to a child.
The horror, the suffering, the salvation, the serenity, the rainbow.
Recognition, perfection, knowing I am another you.

Up comes midnight, the dark night, renewal, and another dawn,
Past moving into future and everything in between.
Another day to raise the flags of angels,
Recycling all to the good, tears turn into the truth.
Shame and blame wear themselves out.
Hollow hearts turn to dust and go down the drain.
Everything and everyone is cleansed, recycled, recalled, rejuvenated.
Rejoining and rejoicing.

This is the future.
Green leaves rising out of ashes.
What comes forth returns to joy,
A peace that we never left.
Go and tell the neighbors.

Realized by Marya January 17, 2024