"Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere."
--G.K. Chesterton
"The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred.../Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you."
--Walt Whitman
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According to the Buddha, right speech is a statement that is timely, true, kind, helpful (connected to liberation), and spoken with a mind of good-will. Let us all try to observe this precept.
My prison pen pal "Conway" sent this poem in his Aug. 31 letter, written on the back of a disciplinary notice he received for participating in a hunger strike to end inhumane conditions in California prisons. Sign the online petition to support their protest.
Tree of Uncertainty
Begin with a gallery hung up high. Who was I, was I not a lost thought, or shattered thinker?
Fingers point, look closer in-out at everywhere. Full-blown kaleidoscopes show new-views if hopes dare.
Paint chips, in the musical time of crackling things, tripping over too many, themed questions.
How many more designs, laws years, flaws, locked-up tiers?
Stacked absence, bad dreams muffled screams, slipping while existence's sad smile silently cracks; Like the sidewalk, Avenue you used to skip on the way to school; Now A void, now a prison no win, deep end, as chain-bound sleep blankly yanks away another dusty, day plus day.
Still I miss, what nothing needs. (Excepting maybe weeds,) That feed upon, another caustic dawn which was lost again when I was found, gone.
So, escort mere mourning that drove time here minds migrating to counts we cleared.
Leaf through these pages like History, or listen to leaves, fall off this tree burdens of, uncertainty...
