Inner peace and contentment depend in large measure upon whether or not the historical family which is inherent in the individual can be harmonized with the ephemeral conditions of the present.
I could not have spoken
had I not heard Sojourner
ahead of me, tall and black,
speaking in my voice, outloud,
She said,“I’m a woman, ain’t I? ”
and shocked me awake,
hearing “I’m a glory, ain’t I?”
Truth behind truth I heard,
radiance, overlong hid,
surrendered. My inner sun
shone its light on my being.
So shine the buried dead
from impermanent graves,
communicating, prodding,
asking for action from each,
for perceptive alliance
with original living.
Being and not being,
the paradox that pleads,
Say yes to your boggled minds
while freedom is ringing glory
from the cave of Sojourner’s heart.
After you met yourself, Sojourner,
something freed your voice.
You changed to a voice heard
in speech of forceful words
filled with the need to speak.
You ceased dying as before,
begging to be recognized,
but met all ears with truth
saying itself as inspired
You spoke to keep things stirring
“now that the ice is cracked,”
the deep cold of death-in-life,
but the daft-deep-stirring needed
is more than two can do.
Word is breaking loose, Sojourner,
invisible hope against all odds
is permeating the insensate dead.
Souls are taking their measure.
Truth-consciousness, Sojourner,
comes when we come together.
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