...All swans are only relics of those birds
Who sail the tideless waters of the mind;
Who traveled once the waters of the earth,
Infecting dreams, helping the child to grow;
And who for age, seeing witless man
Deck the rocks with gifts to make them mild,
Sensed the disaster to their uncaught lives,
And streamed shoreward like a white armada
With heads reared back to strike and wings like knives.
As children we know of wildness and our hearts weep at how we are tamed, and how we tame those around us. We become safe within our walled fortress of cultures as we trade fierce swans for those grown up on white bread. Perhaps we should be feeding these swans, Wonder Bread, our lives, mana from the sky which is to be under the sky, free from castles of retreat and war. But we are never safe, for our wild hearts, unheeded, will break down our false sense of isolation, perhaps in violent and painful circumstances, and return us and all those waiting to be free to our natures.
What are you afraid of in nature? Your nature?
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