Editorial, Poetry

Homo is not yet Sapiens

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Some see this birthing-dying world

as a blaze of beauty.

Some call it dark and dense.

Some feel mainly Grace,

some toil and pain.

But some

—no, most—

to soothe their fear and vulnerability,

apply for membership

on well-muscled teams,

ones made fit for fight

(euphemized as noble combat)

which jockey against

one or more foes,

clear-cast as “other,”

while anointing themselves

as the chosen champions

of truth and right.

But these tribal teams,

self-deemed to be so different,

do they not self-hypnotize,

in equal measure?

And do they not

make a much-the-same-sounding din,

even as they hear

their own harsh soundings as

—can it be: music—

(if only to their own ears)?

There is, however, another voice,

the One who speaks and sings,

clear chords from above.

She is mostly unheard.

But we could, yet, and instead,

listen to Her, the heavenly Sophia.

She who is Wisdom whispers this:

“Homo is not yet sapiens,”

or … but rarely

“And She asks us

to ask ourselves,

What if … ???”

What if our own finger-pointing tribe,

though sometimes right in part,

is equally, and inevitably,

partly wrong?

And what if

we would give our self-appointed tribes

—all of them—

far less credence,

and a far less pervasive

embrace and authority,

given their mere partiality?

And when will we cease

our attempts at framing

the major things

of existence and Being

in the forms of fixed and certain

creeds and convictions?

And when will we learn to forswear

our habituation to proclaiming,

as clear and final truth,

merely partial views

and senescent oppositions?

And when will we—newly—learn, instead:

to speak less and listen more,

to accept uncertainty,

to allow discomfort,

to trust the Larger,

to choose kindness,

to live for Love,

to release, now and now again,

any form of judging,

and any and all inflictions

of the addiction

to doing hurt and harm?

Newly learn we can.

The pathway there is Now.

Anthony Acheson

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