Take Me to the Mountains
People are beginning to fill up this mountain town.
Many come here to pray to St Francis.
They walk on their knees with candles in their hands.
They will ask the Patron Saint to heal someone they love.
The oiled wood floor below them has hatches
to the remains
Of those who have passed.
Others come here because it is high.
It is high in the mountains at 9,000 feet.
It is high because it is the holy land of the Huichole.
It is high because you can live here without the monster.
You can live here without the monster of fear.
You can live here without the monster of greed.
You can live here without the monster of vanity.
There is no War on Terrorism here.
And the people are not afraid of an attack.
They are more afraid of the people who insist on invading others.
Last night, I saw three old men talking in a small stone room.
The walls were bare and there was only a bare light bulb.
It hung from the ceiling on two wires, an inspector’s delight.
They, by all standards of western wealth, are poor.
They, by the standards of those in Mexico City, are underprivileged.
And, in many ways they are.
But they are privileged to talk of their days,
And to walk in their world view,
With just a little dignity and a dash of grace.
And they will not feel the fear of an American President,
Or his own Vice.
They will be the last to know of their machinations,
And the first to not be effected.
For they live in a poverty of wealth.
While we live in a wealth of poverty.
Back in the early days of the Music Capital of the World,
there was a band called Shiva's Head Band.
They sang a song called,
Take Me to the Mountains.
Some of us have.
What it is About
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