Eastern voices speak of suffering.

Western voices never,

nor death,

nor failure.

We groan with pain.

Eastern hearts speak gratitude.

Western voices seldom;

We talk the power of love.

An Eastern call to mindfulness

Draws Western starched effectiveness.

It is wrong to aspire effect

when not mindful of intent.

The cart leads the horse

graceless

imprisoned

bound to stumble.

It is wrong

to replace gratitude

with the hope of love

when love blooms only where gratitudes grow together,

for pleasure and grace,

beauty and laughter.

Gratitude is love’s leprechaun.

It is wrong to have so much

I can postpone my pain

by ignoring your suffering.

When I find grace,

gratitude,

leaving you to suffer

without the rest of us

embarrasses me.

Suffering seeks an inclusive fair;

Climatic shifts fuel despair.

It shrieks of separate.

Fair distance calls my gratitude

for hope

you will notice

and care for me

and I for you

and yours.

I,

last remnant of the Industrial Age,

stretch back with toxic baton.

Embarrassed,

yet not sure we could do better.

But you,

first glint of the Information Age,

Transitional Re-Generation;

Hear your Shambhala Call:

Regenerate our planet,

watch and hear yourselves

sing and march and dance

listen and understand and incarnate

We Are The World

synerlusciously

on every cell

every lap

every radio

every monitor

every prison

every asylum

every voice

every heart

every tear in every eye

a tear of gratitude

to belong together,

for respect

for caring for ourselves

each other

our Earth.

You can do this;

and you will.