The Arc of Life

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The Arc of Life

Each morning

We take our places

On the arc of life.

We stand in the line

Of the brigade,

Passing fuel and water

To the center of the flame.

 

To keep the furnace burning,

We stoke the fire

With the cord-wood of grain

And the coal of flesh,

Breathing the draft

Which fans the flame,

Drinking the water

Which makes the steam

That turns the wheel.

 

That magical place

Where the miracle

Of transformation occurs,

Where darkness becomes light

And death becomes life,

The twilight zone

Through which all things

Come and go.

 

This morning

I walk to the store

To purchase another day.

Such is the way

For modern beings

Like ourselves.

We sell a portion

Of our bodies, our labors

And our energies

To buy a loaf of bread.

 

And thus,

We are all consumed

In the course of our lives

By the storekeeper, the baker

And the farmer

Who nurtured the wheat,

Paying homage

To the interdependence

Of all.

I share my flesh with you

As you do with me.

 

I carry the bread home

And feed it to the constant flame,

Blazing at the center

Of my frame,

Laid from top to bottom,

From end to end,

In perfect balance

At the center of my gut.

 

The fire within burns

And replenishes me,

Releasing the energies

Of life from death

Emitting light

To the extremities

Of my body

And my mind.

For all it´s varied uses,

For work and for play,

To feed our needs and desires

And all our love.

 

So then tomorrow

We will get up

And do it all over again,

For as long

As we are given,

Willingly.

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