Joy Harmon's Page

Hello,

iPeace will be closed shortly.. Here you can find a new home.

http://peaceformeandtheworld.ning.com/

You are cordially invited.

Warm regards, Eva

I just thought it was a great video and that all of my iPeace friends might benefit from it, so I decided to send it to everyone that is still somewhat active on the site. I'm glad you enjoyed it! Have a great day.

"I recommend people seek that Peace that is within. It's consistent with the coming and going of each breath".........Joy Harmon

"Happy Trails" Namaste, Al

A HISTORY OF PROTEST IN MY LIFE
at 1 and 60

I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.

I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.

Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?

Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.

When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.

What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?

I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.

There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.

It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.

I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.

That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.

Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.


Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?

David Sparenberg
3 Feb. 2009

NATIVE SENSES

The expression
of the beautiful genius
opens like a wordless
rose
and clothes us
in the fumes
of paradise.
Somehow
when we are
listening to the wings
of crows and the
tender melodies
of elfin butterflies
we feel embraced
by the breath
of angels.
Beating
so softly, so
delicate-sweet that
velvet on a virgin’s
skin
might touch us
with an offering.
Though
we are there, out
in that other place
the familiar cup
of a summer’s rose
rises
from this ground
to kiss us
with the miracle
of its pouring passions.
And
we are downed
supine
into the common
haunting symbolum
of earth’s
dense mystery.
Though
not a single
word has swollen
to the lips
like a cherry
freshly swollen,
but the heavy
buzzing
of a working bee
lost
in the ecstasies
of pollen.
And
we are spellbound
and complete.
Like fruit.
Like garden.

David Sparenberg

Thanks, Joy. No, no relation. but I'll check her out. Thanks.
Dennis