Drops & Waves . . . . On the road in North America.

Water—either in flowing movement or at rest—has
traditionally always been a much regarded object of
contemplation. How could it be otherwise? The quiet
pool is so much like silence; the wild stream is so much
like the turbulence of life itself. As drops contact the
surface of a dark, shaded, forest pool, so too sounds
ring out from the silence of night—a resource now
as rare & as precious as a clear mountain spring—
and retreat in echoing waves back into that stillness
whence they sprang.

Pondering such things gives me pause. It makes me
wonder about all this incessant talk of war. Yet for many
like myself, the meaning of war has already changed deeply
and irreversibly. Yet it is still difficult to find the words
to give this change proper expressioin.

Heroic? Patriotic? Noble? No, not at all, but I would say
rather brutish self-perpetuating waste of the most hellish
kind. Is there then a path to Peace? I would say yes.
Perhaps it begins with the insight that nowhere are the
paths of violence and peace related,
nowhere do they
cross. What do you think?

	Path of Violence? Violence is a pool of poison water threatening the river of life. Gazing out over the whole of the river, one sees that answering violence with violence never stops the corruption of the water, but rather becomes a part of the pollution itself; Violence is a fire raging in the house of love and good intentions. Never putting out the flames, answering violence with violence is the fuel that burns the house to the ground; Violence is a noise drowning out the symphony of all peoples. Answering violence with violence, noise replaces music, soon becoming the only sound we know.

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