Nature, if I'll but listen, calls to me with love. She implores that I make a vow with the song of kinship, the incantation of peace and goodness. The sky, the mountain, the stream, the forest and ocean wait on me to implement my inherent love upon another, my caress of all things that whisper of serenity. Nature is patient, much like Love, and looks to me for wisdom, for reason to counter the destruction and agony found in cruelty, in murderous rage, greed and indifference. Why I was unable to see the endgame of ruin found in war is beyond my reach, yet the path to peace rests within me. The answers dream the question that I must ask myself, is my purpose love or is my function to hate? If I conclude that my reason for being is hatred, then I must convince the instinct for survival of its hopelessness, then encourage war to end all suffering, to come swift with horror in its fists like the birds of Ares. If I conclude that my reason for being is love, then I must persuade war
(The Weaver's Song)