There are poisons in every bush...
Mushrooms, Belladonna, Holly---
There are knives in every kitchen.
There are fists and rocks and sticks.
There are murderous thoughts in everyone.
There are pillows, and blankets, and forks.
There are oceans, and lakes, and rivers.
There are cars, and planes, and trains.
What causes us to be safe?
It is trust in our fellow man.
Thus, also with the market,
If we all are greedy, and want
All we can gather for ourselves---
If we are the hunter as one said,
Who stalks the prey, and brings
Home the game, and says to the Medicine Man
"Your dances, and tales, and cave paintings
"Are of no use to us, old man."
Then, understand...
The Old Medicine Man's job
The Story Teller
The Poet
The Philosopher
The Judge
Is to teach men the dangers
And to show them peace.
For a mushroom blooms,
It can kill you dead.
You need the Medicine Man
To see the more subtle poisons
For that is his business
Is to identify them
And caution us when we're ignorant...
For if we pluck the toadstool
From the yard, and sell it
To our brother, we are a murderer.
If we take the gleanings from the neighbor's bush
Collected in the bucket,
Then we are a thief.
If we yield to our passions
And pluck the virgin's maidenhood
We are an adulterer.
And subtler poisons than these...
If we make it so man can have no labor
Save the one who is approved by the hunter,
Then the Gatherer, then the Dancer,
Then the Poet, then the Scribe,
Will have no occupation.
And if so... understand,
There will be suffering.
Safe?
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