In this Autumn rain I can feel the earth eating the dying.
The squash vine whispers to the nightshade hymnals
that concord with the pace at which the maple leaves hit the soil.
This is the season when the people molt.
This season every system dying jolts its transmutation
into a message that emotes, emotes, emotes.
There is finally a wake-up that screams, You are the same as the trees!
Except we are all trying to cut each other down
and this dilemma is nothing short of a cosmic discord
that takes the earth shaking and volcanoes quaking-- your mouth wide open
kind of emphasis on how your life will be changed.
Now that we know that earth with resume long after we're gone.
Now that we know that this season of death rattles
where the dying bodies of plants, people, machines and ideologies
are called unto the valley of the shadow of death,
there is nothing to fear except fear itself.
The phoenix is the anthropomorphic version of your ability to transform.
If the only constant is change
then death is the only paradigm
to total metamorphosis.
Under this energy in motion, our emotions pull the current.
Our waves that change the landscape are capable of great visions
and actions that can sweep away the boulders into the sea.
