The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
I was looking back through last year’s Sept 11 entry, and found this poem on Sept 12 which I think fits today. Another 11 Sept comes around, and another year spent fighting the war on terror – which is one war that there is no way we can win. You can’t fight a war unless you have an enemy you can see, hear and shoot. And you can’t control what people are thinking or feeling. Perhaps in Dubya’s perfect world he would be able to monitor everyone’s thoughts and, like in something out of a Phillip K Dick novel, would know as soon as you decide to commit a crime.
But we can’t legislate what people are thinking. We can’t legislate how people feel. And because of this there will always, always, be that minority who decide violence is the answer – that the murder of innocents will bring attention to their cause. Be it misguided or not, that’s their belief. That if they commit enough atrocities, kill enough innocents, then something has to change.
Sorry mate, but it don’t work like that. Yes, you’ll get attention – but believe me when I tell you that nothing will change for your cause.
A solomn day. As it should be.