Perspective Chant

Only one way to look. It could be more difficult than it is, but you keep it simple, easy... weak.

It's like that tea he used to make when I was small. The whistle of the kettle would scream through the house, announcing to all residents nearby that that there was a culture to be tasted. You would pour gallons into the kettle and I would stand at the counter, watching the scalding water land on the granite when you would jerk your arm. It was understandable. It was heavy.

My view was not very good; I was staring eye-level with the edge but I could always smell the concoction of herbs and leaves when you picked the tea bag out of the tupperware. One. Solitary. Bag.

It would attempt to steep, but after mere moments, you would pour it. Leave it rest! I wanted to holler. Do you not know that good things come to those who wait? Now that I think about it, that line never came to my head. I was young. I was afraid of speaking out.

But now I am older. I am enlisted. And I cannot speak out whenever I need to, even because I possess that power.

Is that what power is like? Feeling like you are in control of what you own?

The arm has taught me that, a quiet recognition of pwers, and humility is more than prominent.

Maybe there is more to life than the power after all?

What about patience? Waiting for that tea to steep. Waiting for the goodness to passively transport across the membrane into the waiting arms of the water beyond?

I believe that's what is going to change perspectives. Not economic estimates, not political perspectives, no war. Patience and humility. How is that for an army?

Perhaps the idea is impractical. Perhaps it's far too idyllic, but what's there to stop us from hoping?