We're together in this, our seed of love. We are wrapped in its cloak, as in the beginning, reaching upward, emerging from truth, blind to the deception, deaf to the chaos. And it is stolen from us, no food as nourishment, no joy as medicine, no love as bandages to stem the flood draining precious goodness with that which cannot feed, that which cannot heal, accepting our indifference as sacrosanct, our greed as fated and not within our control, as a manifest thing beyond our reach. Oh! We can feed the world! We can nourish it, and, along the way, grasp the idea that we’re in control of this, the chart inside our seed, the truth that's been co-opted and without our permission, without our knowing endorsement. Anesthetized, we sleep without comfort, walk without prayer yet there is great relief in this simple truth- there is great power in our knowing, wonderful gardens planted with each kernel, a sweet truth upon their blooms, seeds that bring food to all... hungry, or no
(The Weaver's Song)