When the vultures of avarice circled,
He heard the wails of the Earth Mother.
Her cry of lament was the spark,
Igniting this simple wanderer into her fiery Apostle.
For this prophet, no epiphany, no Burning Bush,
Just a lover’s surrender, falling, drowning, into Her beauty.
man, he walked softly into her secret places.
Over the peaks of the high Sierras;
Through the lush valleys of Yosemite;
Amidst groves of the Great Sequoias.
And in quiet nights, serenaded by wolf howls,
She whispered to him her ancient songs.
The mountains of the Sierra Nevada murmured
Stories of the Great Beginning of time itself.
When Earth and Sky embraced in mighty spasms,
And Man was just a dream in the sleep of The Great Spirit.
The granite gorges of Yosemite bespoke
Of violent glaciers, fingers of ice sculpting solid rock.
Of gentle streams, that burbled through the millennia,
Their constant caresses, burnished smooth their roughness.
And the majestic baritone of the Sequoias summoned him.
Before they were giants, they were tender saplings.
When another gentle Carpenter walked the Earth,
And a Prince, under another tree, was enlightened.
The Great Spirit itself,
Awakened from slumber.
And moved by the tears of the Mother who birthed Him,
Was grieved into words:
“This Beauty I have given you, is who I am,
This Beauty I have given you is who You are.
Celebrate Mass in this cathedral, ring the bells of this temple,
Spread your prayer rugs in this mosque, read the Torah in this synagogue.
Let the waters of these rivers be your baptism into joy,
And in this, this other Eden, you will surely find grace!”
MP Khan: 10/09
© COPYRIGHT 2009 M.P. Khan. Reprinted on the John Muir Exhibit by written permission.
The Life and Contributions of John Muir
Tributes to John Muir
Home | Alphabetical Index | What's New