Copyright all photos and text S.A. Ozuna 2015

1.

Walking the bones of the earth,
seeing the accretions of time,
glimpses of hidden truths,
half truths, new truths,
a palimpsest of history.

When we look at man,
what do we see?
Do we see the eye of the soul,
or merely the accretions of the years,
a contextual crust of many layers.

2.

We are born naked,
and immediately begin
the accumulation of sedimentary debris.

Family,
geography,
history,
religion,
school,
work,
experiences,
seasons,
smells,
memories,
the topological markers
of our souls.

3.

Like minerals on the wall of a cliff,
our accumulations color us,
create the texture of our lives.

We are both enriched by their content,
and separated by the walls they build.

Looking out and looking in,
the world is inevitably distorted
by the kaleidoscope prism
of our accretions.

We see out dimly through our layers,
and the world, looking back, sees
nothing but crust.

4.

We need to go walkabout
through the layers of the earth,
the layers of each other,

We need to steal from the great lions,
see with cat’s eyes,
piercing through layers
to flesh and bone.

We need to wade through family,
geography, history, religion,
school, work, experiences,
seasons, smells, and memories,
to the eye of the soul,
touch naked hearts.

Earthquakes will happen.
The earth will cleave in two,
shattered by compassion,
riven by history.

5.

5.
At night, we watch TV,
and weep tears of the moon,
at the images of drowning babies,
while in the morning we reiterate
there is no room at the inn.

Six million lives lost,
their voices echoing on the wind,
Surely we can find room,
there are ghosts holding place markers.

My heart seen from space
would have ley lines of sorrow
for my beloved earth,
her broken creatures,
and wounded mantle.

6.

Hourly, I feel her wounds.
Not a day goes by that
I don’t doctor her cuts.

And I ask, “Who are these merchants of death
who profit from the arms,
that turn to dust
the temples of Palmyra.
Who profits?”
For therein lie the secrets and the power.

7.

Those who profit,
glory in our walls,
delight in our separation,
bang the drums of celebration of our layers,
their important, their sacred solemnity,
and draw lines on the planet.

8.

So, I walk,
holding conversations with the earth,
stripping myself naked,
dreaming of a world without lines,
a world without walls.

Copyright all photos and text S. A. Ozuna 2015