At ease with the source. I revel in the silent song of the breeze. The oppression that begins each moment comes to grip with the minds eye. In the dark green density of the forest there is place where all beings, all consciousness, all experience comes together in the flight of the wasp, in the darkness and secrets of mestizo eyes, in the torrid and raging passion of pagan rituals. All cries, all pleas, all justice, all meanings are visible to the divine in you, to the divine in me. Swept up in the anthem of human progress and the rendering of ourselves to mink coats and alligator shoes. Hoping and praying we remember where we learned to become human. In the beginning our minds are strong. Our hearts are big. We keep believing in love and kindness to our friends, to our enemies. But these values, these few pennies and dimes degenerate our sensitivity. Our soul awakens us from a dreadful sleep. She cannot feed us the rocks and pebbles that sprout from the soil. She cannot kiss us with lips protruding with disease and pollution. She cannot hold us with arms burdened by exploitation. But still we see our future in her images and symbols. In the beauty of her tapestries. In the horns and guitars. And dancing in the street. And cool breezes kissing the desert sands. And the romance of street people sincerely pleading take your time with the music, for this is for the people. Take your time with the music for this is for the people. Take your time with the Revolution for this is for the people!