AGE III

Time is a river swelling a sea of consciousness
Partially closing my eyes, its hum fills my head
A blur of particles are streaking my open shutter
Past moments form briefly from months ago
To here in the sun, warm, Cuba’s north shore
A gentle swell hits and tugs, encrusted rocks
Shoring up a defense for freedom of the spirit
A revolution of words, notes, colors and forms
Flowering in spite of every nonsensical onslaught
Of those who denominate only in terms of money
Little knowing the existences of spiritual realms
As did Zorba, urging his boss to see a green stone
No other like it in the world, no other emerald isle
Luminous jade, only for true believers, in the 60s
We said, a Beat Generation, beatific visionaries
Deeply unsatisfied, solitary, in mystic exhaustion  
Until they were overcome, forced into conformity
Losing their identity in a sea of T.V. sitcoms
News releases, sports spectaculars, relieving one
Of the duty to think, to explore, to know more.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    March 15, 2007
    Palmares, Costa Rica