Kiss a Holy Man

The holy man sits under a tree
in the desert
of these here United States of America

Open to the stars
the drops of rain
the beating of
ancient drums

while the next generation
sees only the dirt
in which they stand
shuffling their feet
as if in motion

The ghosts of America
past and present
gesture vainly
mutely and invisibly
for attention

Thinking of tomorrow
with eyes on the dirt
forgetting
that we put a man on the moon
forgetting the moon
forgetting the sky
forgetting the horizons

Greedy for our
next dose
of the dream,
we fail to acheive
the dream state

In sleep
we still see dirt
We let the
boxes of idiots
dream incompetently
for us

Our hands
our hearts
our heads are good
but dying the death
of the unrealized

Open your eyes
and see inside
Close them and see
what should be
Assemble good hands
and hearts and heads
Assemble a dream

Open the factory
the farm
where dreams can be made
or grown

Send the holy men
the ghosts of America
the dreamers
the healers
the lunatics
the genuine crazies
into the schools

Play a tune of more
for the children
Instruct them not
in the history of the dream
but in the process

The mind that can be
a vampire,
a werewolf
an Indian princess,
can travel to
Jerusalem and back
on a flying horse.

The rider can go
to all the hatching grounds
where the shells of eggs
long since hatched
lie mixed with fertile
whole eggs
capsules of potential
a river of possibilities

Close your eyes
Look for the dream
Go down to the river
and bathe in it
break some eggs
Shake the hand of
your local holy man

Let the waters
seep into every opening
Follow the flow
into the dream
into the future
inside
and into the
furthest reaches

Close your eyes
open your doors
feel each other's fantasies
feed each other's fantasies
water them and
set them in the sun
and see where we grow
See where we go

See the lines
between the states
blur and begin
to vanish
Live on both sides
of those lines

Let go
hold on
hug everyone
hear everyone
Listen to that
holy guy
Laugh and love
and raft the river
and open the doors
between hearts

Make one heart
many dreams
many tongues
Turn on the
possibility factory
Give the workers
the job
of assembling tomorrow.



With thanks to my favorite currently local holy man.