(Probably the average person does not yet hear, first thing on awakening every morning ~ as does this poet every day ~ sounds of hatred before any other. Probably the last sound they hear each night is not yet a sound of hatred. Probably they are not yet dealing with poisons being released into their air supplies at night, as they are released into hers.
But hatred is on the rise among us ~ and every statement of intolerance for one another which we ourselves voice brings the day closer when it feels free to rule unfettered and completely.)
Well, here she is! We had not thought Tonight to see you, dear: We’ve heard no recent rumors of The sort of vile intensity You seem to absolutely love And, seeming sad, irrev’cably Ever in midst embroil us of…
Hath there been aught we haven’t heard? The rumor mill grinding so slow That we your presence see before Its reason come to know?
(It is known among scholars of Gautama Buddha that ~ as he taught among, and in the vernacular of, both the societally high and low ~ he can seem actually to have contradicted himself unless the context into which he was speaking is taken into account.
The poet herself has had much trouble come to her in life from words spoken into a context of an understanding that whatever is being pronounced is done so with an intent for the good of the whole community rather than any sort of self aggrandizement, but overheard by minds with quite another set of assumptions, and quite different personal agendas.
These had no standards to judge her by but their own.)
(In the background of this recording may be heard a “bird” which commenced calling each time the poet began recording, ceasing again each time she did. Passersby will too-frequently notice a plethora of electronically sampled “birdsong” around the van.
This same “bird” is doubtless responsible for the plastic bag caught on the lawn shrubbery of the neighbor immediately across from her parking space today ~ and the one likewise caught in a tree just ahead of it on that same side of the street.
His activities have already cost the City of Pueblo thousands of dollars in infrastructure damage. Nationwide, the total is in the millions. The poet is in a position to know, as they are very often conducted when and where she must either look at them or list n to the sound of emergency vehicles nearby.
These acts of public vandalism, along with the over one hundred dead animals he has left for her in the 10,000 miles she has traveled trying to get away from him ~ one, a black cat, left within the last three months on the sidewalk outside the old courthouse right here in Pueblo ~ and a dozen varying harassment techniques ~ are designed to keep her perpetually terrified.
In a tachycardia patient, such as she is known to him to be, they are designed to threaten life.)