Sophrosyne America

The river flows ten-thousand years, And yet its name never changes.

Its course whips wildly on the landscape, Yet you can stand on its shore dry-footed.

The stream carries nothing of substance, But leaves a great gouge in the Earth.

This is the way of the river This is the way of change This is the way of life And essence of the Tao.

To some there is an admirable impulse To fit the river into geometric gridlines Ruled by thoroughly researched ideologies But this is a sin of impatience, incontinence.

It is better to settle into the current To reflect upon the nature of the river And its power and natural majesty And abandon ideas of hubris.

Thus I pray, with my bleeding secular heart, That America adopt this sophrosyne creed.

To those who call for Revolution, I entreaty, Stand in the street and pick the fifth person, Cave their head in with a rock you find To get a taste of the war you claim to crave.

Thus I pray, with my bleeding secular heart, That America adopt this sophrosyne creed.