We are the occupiers.

This is the land we possess.
Hollow rings a tribute
to its past stewards,
however noble,
to the land itself,
which never asked
to be possessed,
to be squabbled over,
to be bathed in blood,
to be described in detail
on puffed up scraps of paper,
agreements we call “legal”—
which knows in fact
who really takes care…
and who couldn’t care less.
In the end, the land
will take care of us.
The land will
take care of us.

We are the occupiers.

Should we then stay silent
in our guilt and shame?
Does complicity disqualify
the very voice or pen?
Is it better to be at peace
than to begin a war?
The coyote has an answer.
The coyote knows
it is better to hobble
its path on three legs
than to founder in a trap.
The beaver knows a winter lodge
is better than squandered summer sun.
The forest knows it is no sin
to burn, then burst in new life.

So… We are the occupiers.
Where does our path lead?

I am an occupier.
Where does my path lead?

I would like to think I know.
I would like to claim
that I master my own destiny.
I would like to chart my course
and only then declare myself
to friend and adversary alike,
to be praised for my vision,
my prose, my fine words
and thoughts and very woke wisdom—
to absolve myself of my father’s sins
by asserting that they are not my own,
that I am somehow superior
to all the generations
that have fallen before,
even to the seventh
times seventy.

But I need not.
It is enough to be
as every other stone
in the Methow shoals.

To begin any journey
all one needs do is stand.
Let this be
my preoccupation.

About Greg Wright

I have worn many hats as a writer and editor over the years. Unlike my scholarly and journalistic work from the "old days" at Hollywood Jesus, Past the Popcorn, or SeaTac Blog, the writing here is of a more overtly personal and spiritual nature. I hope it provokes you as much as it provokes me.
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