If We Slowed Down

What if we remained as we were before,

and the pace of our life was like

the flow of the tides—

changing only ever so slightly

from one day

to the next.

And if we had time again to sit—

to think of simple things

like counting stars and

watching clouds so perhaps

we can divine some shape—

some meaning

some purpose

in the wooly patch floating across—

or even a silver lining.

If we did that,

we could sit on the grass

and enjoy our picnics.

We could breathe air that is free—

from smog

from stress

from threat of war

even from poverty.

What if there were fewer lemmings?

Scurrying around—

running fast and accomplishing nothing—

killing themselves.

The lemming thinks

only about crossing the river

but suppose he chose—

maybe just once, to stay;

to refuse to jump

to stop fighting.

He would be a happy lemming—

satisfied with the pace

on his side of the shore.

And we were happy lemmings once

before someone decided

progresswas worth suicide.

Then we jumped in the river

and most of us drowned.

But our divine purpose, I think

comes full circle—

a slower way must prevail.

We must become the happy

            relaxed

creatures we were before.