.

My answer may be a bit shocking.

I ensure that I am well grounded.

You see, one must remember before hugging these unfortunate souls,
that a callous connection of a positive charge with a negative charge can have devestating affect.

So, I ensure that I understand the situation, and their perspective.  Hence grounded, carefully proceed.

Mind you, I still keep an eye out for random arcs.

.

.

 

Maestro spins tunes for Summer's ceilidh,

Nature's sounds form exotic symphony,

bees buzz the primal bass drone,

cicadas pipe rhythmic tenor drone,

as hummingbirds rapidly sing a chanter song.

Her highly tuned yet limited range,

makes Her form an attractive exchange,

wind howling and swallows chirp the thrills,

natural combination of grace note trills,

Nature's  North American replicate skirl.

So my blood forged on MacLeod's Skye domains,

wraiths of hereditary musicians course in my veins,

recognizing an historic melody in these desert tunes,

music of a distant place flitting through the dunes,

She graciously plays a haunting North American pibroch.

As my soul continues to dance this joyous jig,

my foot begins to tap along during this continental gig,

the tunes of our world may be regionally different,

yet the songs that are spun are uniting and acaulescent,

transparent to those whom are deaf and hear the world as anechoic.

However, harmonious commonality of living is loud to those who listen.

.

" Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest." - Mark Twain

That's a hard one.  I'm going to get hypnotized to figure this one out ... ah-ha!  Here it is -

"eeeooohhhh aaaaeehhhh mmaaa ma daaaaa da .... INTEGRAL ROCKS, KEN WILBER IS DA BOMB."

.

 

Approaching the crest of the mountain,

Which in some places would be considered a hill,

But here today in this context a mountain,

Some-one in the party pointed to a cloud,

Looking ahead as it disgorged itself of water,

And exclaimed that ahead in our travels,

That we would encounter rain.

The crest turned out to be a false peak,

Which probably was the peak,

For a lizard sunning on a rock there,

Some-one in the party pointed to the cloud,

Continuing a mission of disgorging water,

Looking ahead as we were getting closer to the rain,

And soon would find ourselves cooler.

As we finally arrived at the crest,

Which we realized was only a foothill,

To a much bigger and more impressive mountain,

Some-one in the party once again announced,

That the cloud was quite efficiently spewing rain,

Being quite obvious as they looked upon the scene,

And surmised that quite soon we'd find ourselves wet.

After a few more steps and heading down,

Past that geologic feature of whatever,

Looking ahead we could see a vast and beautiful valley below,

Or perhaps it was a basin of sorts without a river,

And that someone gasped loudly in embarrassed realization,

Since the virga was certainly not sharing water with the ground,

That we'd not get wet anytime soon.

It was about this time that we felt rain on our backs.

.

.

Why do you ask these questions?



The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind...

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
- Bob Dylan

.

.

.


 

Defiance expands from the desert floor,

Love of life and aspirations of growth,

Despite the odds.

Despite the aridity.

In spite of the Sun,

Towering upward toward the sky,

Reaching toward the clouds,

Reaching toward the azure above,

In breaching the probability,

Patience expands from the desert floor.

Defiant Saguaro is born on the desert floor,

Centuries pass as it captures life and grows,

An arm reaches enhancing reproduction,

An arm is created in protest,

Of the dominant Sun above,

More arms towering upward toward the sky,

Touching the clouds above,

Touching Our spirit around,

This cactus testament to life and survival,

Patient Saguaro is a monument on the desert floor.

 

.

 

They speak to us,

Softly blowing,

Dusty whispers,

Survival truths,

Those Who Have Gone.

Ghost construction,

Magnificent,

Caliche walls,

Heave sagging sigh,

Of desert life.

Buried canals,

Carved by stone tools,

Bringing water,

Sustaining life,

Hohokam blood.

Watching heavens,

Astronomers,

Spirit in hand,

Solstice reaping,

Capturing time.

In reverence,

I whisper back,

Desert tidings,

We honor you,

Those Who Have Gone.

.

 

A tenet of leadership that I have observed through time is that of loyalty to the team which one may be chosen to lead.  This is a loyalty that must transcend individuals - either the leader or any singular team member; a loyalty devoid of selfish motives.  Devoid of selfish motives means, quite frankly, sometimes making decisions that are painful, not desirable, and certainly may lack "popularity."

I have been in leadership decisions where I have had to make that "cut" call, or the decision of "you cannot be on this team any longer."  It is difficult, it is hard, and over the years, it never becomes an easier task and every time it rips my heart apart.

The names of people with whom I work, befriend, and with whom I associate have their names written in golden letters upon my heart - and seemingly need to be cut for complete removal from my soul and the core that makes me.  Yet, I do not allow that removal, since contact with others becomes part of me - include, and transcend.

One of the hardest moments in leadership for me was at a place far away in a time long ago, where my small team had to don protective (gas) masks due to agents in the air.  When the "equipment" indicates the air is clear, the procedure then was to select the most "expendable" member of the team and have them remove their mask and "test" the air.

Mind you, this was a real situation - not training.  Just imagine the thoughts about equipment reporting correctly, that this was someone's life on the line.  I lost a bit of my soul that day, or at least I thought I had.  The individual selected, despite being explained how and why it was necessary that they take off their mask to test the airs, why they were considered the most "expendable" member of the team (yet their contributions were invaluable!) hated me for 14 years.  Deplored me.  Wished me dead.

Then, two months ago, came a letter.  This person had just received a PhD, and thanked me for showing through example the compassion, love of others, and making conscientious decisions that ensured the survival of the team - that they recognized that a selfish action of not abiding by the protocol that day could have put at risk everyone (the team wanted everyone to take off the masks simultaneously - brave souls - to avoid having to "pick" a human guinea pig and "judge" a team member as most "expendable").  This thanked me for maintaining as a leader the moral courage to make decisions for the benefit of the entire team, and took the time to explain how the "most expendable" really was an oxymoron, since none of the teammates were such, and that in turn inspired this delightful person to reach greater heights.

In the last 5 years, I have had teammates lost who will never return.  This is a heartsick that will probably never cure - it may abate, but will always be present.  I endeavor to live their spirit and pass it on, and in the case of one individual, is why I write poetry - it is all a tribute to that individual's spirit.