[The water-born people of the earth have been summoned to the shore. They have long been aware 
of the carnage done to the planet, by those of other elemental disposition as well as many of 
their own number.  They wait. Abruptly, the rhythms of the ocean pause, withholding the steady 
reassurance we have always known and taken for granted.  Panic begins to ripple through the crowd. 
One of them, steps from the sea of anxious voices and turns to address them all:]  


			 			 
Ocean Council

Listen a moment, water-born friends
Sons and daughters of the ocean spray
Hear fairly what I've come to say,
And thus petition on behalf of strangers,
From many distant quarters,
Matters which this council must now weigh.

Which of you has not so suffered:
Felt the chill of air's disturbance?
Been thrice scalded in fiery steam?
Or choked on sediments of earth,
Till once great visions dim
Upon a tide of clouded dream?

Who among us claims no elemental hand
Profaned the sacred texts of the Sea
And, in ignorance or cruel design,
Abruptly tore from us our reveries
And plunged us into dissonance?


	
	Aye, we know the case dear brother,
	As one often pressed before;
	And, well you know, concluded
	It is almost time for war.


I'm not here to speak of that;
The litany of plaint and cost,
Nor eulogize the ones in prison,
Driven mad or counted lost
From the pride and grace of Ocean's
    harmony.

I've thought about it many years;
Saw much, till now, I did not understand;
Counted broken hearts, on either side
- Saw as many drowned as saved -
And, there, above the din of savage battle,
Heard those who raved and those who cried.

Who would deny, among the casualties:
Friends and lovers we've left upon the shore,
Ones abandoned to the world,
While we retreated to our quiet pools;
Convinced that we could do no more;
And did no more?

	
    
	Aye, we don't deny. We don't deny
	or make excuses. As you know,
	That's not our way we reckon
	our abuses.


I lay no blame for what has passed,
Nor cant the death upon the shore.
Still, we know, beneath the oceans veil,
Within her buried History of Tears,
How Gaia dreamed in blood, stone as well,
And, with each breath, apportioned four.

Hot desire first roused the sleeping Dream,
and from those songs fair Earth was made,
Quickly wrapped in swaddling Air,
There billowed clouds of  ancient steam
To fall as tears of gratitude and pain.

Are we not reminded upon every tide:
What could be more earthly
    than the earthly sea?
Or bright with power than a breaking wave
Filled with Fire's sensuality?
Did it not then spread to distant homes,
Where it came to rest as airy foam?
    
	
	
	yes, we know that each alone would fall,
	Were it not imbued with the character
	of all.

	But, where others dominate and ruin,
	Even those in sympathy might wish
	to leave that home.

	We are driven away by the pain.
	We are frightened by the destruction.
	Our visions be broken and abandoned
	Amidst the fury of Discord's obsessed 
	constructions.


True enough, be is the finale of seem,
Though our greatest visions fall unheard
As much from our neglectful word:

That Poetry's become a pale shadow,
And Dance is just preserved;
The industry of word is known,
But, rare the History or Dream,
Rarer yet does something show.

Hold then, to the channel
Where knowledge is still sought;
Yet, watch the mix of pride and power
That will, by careless thought
Extinguish fire's lamp,
Dampen airy spirits,
Batter earthen walls,
Till each in turn would fall.

By such deeds we stand
Accused, as though accuser be;
And, while the rage increases,
Let there be no doubt;
That Air disperses into pale whisper,
The shadows grow on Fire's ashen pyre
And Earth reveals field upon barren field.
So, too, the watery  lamp goes out.

	
	
	We have heard. And we agree
	That this line of reasoning is more
	Than simple tributary.

	What, however, there remains to show
	Is by what device this stream
	Would flow? Or, by what star
	We might find it safe to navigate
	Through this wandering season?
	


Only this I keep, that has been washed 
with the gravel of my experience:

How I saw my own mother weep
As confusion wandered to despair,
Or, I so let my vision seep
Beneath a conversation's want
That drowned a most congenial Air.

Time after time, I watched as my beloved
Try to climb above the wash of notion
To see what might be built of earth,
Only to be swept into an ocean of ideas
Or flooded so by doubt and shame
That threatened to put out her flame.

And I held to my own stubborn view
That one could wander thus, forever
On some lonely ocean shelf,
Or seek completion in the company
Of those, who like myself, 
Preferred above all else the sea.

	
	
	Do you not fear dilution of the dream
	And, by that combination, be consumed?
	
	

Indeed I do. But, rather seek the truth
Of knowing what I possess,
And what I do not, though I stand as part, 
and only part, is there release from bitter isolation.

Is it not a task worthy of the risk?
For what, I ask, is the alternative,
certain destruction that  offers no solution?

	
	
	That case we will now consider:
	Whether the retreat among our kind
	Was driven by necessity, Or merely 
           reflected resignation from within 
           the mirrored pools of our own minds.


Sons and Daughters of the sea:
That is our way, and so petitioned
On behalf of those who search 
as we do, for the restoration of this goal.

Speak to your respective councils
Such, that each of us may find 
the harmony that Gaia once had known,
That earth and air and fire 
be summoned to this ocean home
to consider next what might be done.