The sacred goes where it wants to go.
Who is anyone to try to contain it
as if it were an object?
It doesn’t belong to the prophets.
No one owns what is of the gods.
I can do things
with the teachings,
with the work
that are wrong.
And that is on me.
The punishment
is that my child is slain:
the legacy,
the work,
the lineage vanishes and disappears.
Success is thy proof.
Whatever the others say about you
your techniques,
your beliefs,
your ideas,
your heresies…
The only thing that counts is success,
because it is in the hands of the gods.
If the gods look favorably on your results,
then that will survive.
If they don’t like what you present,
it will die.
We are divine.
That sacred juice flows through us.
Our product is that grape that will become wine.
But it’s not up to us what fruit will become wine.
It’s up to the gardener.
The gardener picks
the grapes that will become wine
and the ones that will not.
It’s not up to me
what my work will produce.
All I can do is produce.
If I’m right,
there will be wine.
(Poetically edited notes by Season Cole, from a talk by The Telling by Koyote the Blind)
