The

most important

question we must ask ourselves

is, “Are we being good

ancestors?”

Jonas Salk

Clouds

grow heavy; thunder goes.

Rain drives in from the east, its patter

falls on the sides of the houses. Rain can be destructive,

wiping out boundary marks. But the soil needs care — ecstatic love

has sprouts now, and renunciation. Let the rain feed both.

Only the farmer with intelligence actually brings

his harvest back to his farmyard. He will fill

the granary bins, and feed both the

wise men and the

saints.

Kabir

a buddha was born

lightning

strikes up out of the earth

stunning the air with sound     the sun falls

flaming into the sea     bright cracks

open in the burning clouds     the sky is broken

this is the season of separation     crossed

and crossing paths

oracle of the turtle

The grounds

for hope are in the shadows,

in the people who are inventing the world

while no one looks, who themselves don’t know yet

whether they will have any effect, in the people you have

not yet heard of who will be the next Cesar Chavez, the next

Noam Chomsky, the next Cindy Sheehan, or become something

you cannot yet imagine. In this epic struggle between light and dark,

it’s the dark side — that of the anonymous, the unseen, the officially

powerless, the visionaries and subversives in the shadows —

that we must hope for. For those onstage, we can just

hope the curtain comes down soon and the

next act is better, that it comes more

directly from the populist

shadows.

Rebecca Solnit