If you cross the starry river
In the plains of day and night
You will find the priests who live there
And they’ll feed you wrong and right.
Though the wrong is sour as poison
And the right is vile and sweet,
In the world of prayer and wisdom
There is nothing else to eat.
So you’ll cross the deep blue desert
To the cliffs of saint and sage,
Where they’ll fit you for a hair-shirt
And they’ll hang you from a cage.
Though you pray until you’re witless
You will never pierce the veil.
Once you’re whittled down to shavings
They will tell you that you failed.
So your purview isn’t wisdom-
There are other ways to be.
Ask the spiders in their burrows.
Ask the water in the sea.
In the ruined walls of Carthage
There’s a man who sits alone.
He can tell you what your dream is
From the cracks along a bone.
In the Empty Quarter, keening,
There’s a woman, old and blind,
And her milky eyes are staring
Through Saharas of the mind.
They will show you how to do things-
How to rule the wind and storm.
And you’ll find yourself a stranger
In the place where you were born.
