STONE

Pioneers to this valley built this church
Stone upon stone, cut from an ancient outcrop
Vented magma hardened in air, shaped by cutters
Chisel and hammer, from what rock then am I cut?
My moments stilled, momentary sense of arrival
Illusively greets me, an essence of colors
Virile forms, reminding me of the harmony
Of my ancestors: all students, shapers and users
Of the word, the note, the musical line.
Today so much decoys our minds
Detours our course, rapid beats break
Sacred silence, disturbing the caring cradle
The howl of the possessed fills the darkness
Hops and barley harvested in summer fields
Are transformed into a demonic agent.
Contemplating with the fall of evening
The establishing of this foundation, sacrifice
To give me the best of this world, to prepare
Me for some destiny, until in that Conservatory
The Lord spoke, “You are an artist” “Condemned
To be a poet.”  The duty to speak out, to defend
Authenticity against the corruption of the vain.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    January 21, 2007
    Palmares, Costa Rica