a scrap of paper blown on a wind
gardener, weaver e loved plants, child to age, watched soil, creatures, sun, rain. learned health, growth, death, tears, smiles, laughter, joy. one day, done, e thought anew, tend people, watch, listen, learn soil, fellows, sun, rain, life anew, a new garden. —a keeper of Perinel
The communists are recapturing Germany twenty-five years after the fall of “The Wall”,
the Chinese are producing rockets and aircraft carriers as fast as their 3-D printers and workmen will reset, the Indians are testing long-range rockets, the Russians are dumping dollars as fast as the garbage shoots allow, and the United States no longer sits on the top of the economic, moral, or military heap. It wasn’t always that way.
For a glorious 200 years, since Napoleon met his Waterloo, the world thrived under the economic, political, and military leadership of the United States and Great Britain; countries where constitutions drove democracy, natural rights, and civil liberties. Individuals became consumed in the fire of freedom and strides of progress covered the globe albeit in fits and starts. The world’s sharp edges are now taking a heavy toll on humanity. Chaos may beget order yet none is visible and that leads me to the poem and why I write.
Written by Leif Smith, “a scrap of paper blown on a wind” opened the shutter in my mind that kept me from understanding why I must write and why the writing must address the legacies of the Cold War. I find, with some surprise, that I am in the second cycle of being while still embroiled in the first cycle of doing. I am, I think, a Keeper in Training; a KIT of Perinel.
In the first cycle, I was driven by the ideals of the United States into service to the country through the sweat of my brow and a grim determination to make the world free. This was my silent promise to the many people I met in my global journey who reinforced my belief that the United States’ founding brothers had it right. To a person, each one I met in Chile, Guatemala, Ghana, Nigerian, India, Thailand, Burma, the Marshall Islands longed to come to the U.S. to work, live without fear, be in control of their own lives for better or worse-be free men and women. This is still a garden I sow.
The discovery that I am in the second cycle came as a surprise. This garden is new and grows tales, parables, lessons, and opportunities to change a tide that has turned from individual freedom and responsibility to nobility of old. It is now a place where czars run the Executive Branch, the peoples’ and states’ representatives are blinded by power and fear, and the Judicial Branch turns its collective eye away from the Constitution in its decision making. No longer is the government afraid of the people as it should be. Now the people are afraid of the government.
I wish to tend people, watch, listen, and learn. I am a Keeper in Training. For the many who have asked, I write to keep a record of a new garden. Perhaps a hint of the record will appear on a scrap of paper blown on a wind that breathes personal freedom and responsibility into one person’s life.