We who are so far from ourselves and the earth
are drawn to the cultures of the ones
who are in touch, alive.

Imagine, hearing an old Jewish woman telling you
that another old Jewish woman looks like a holocaust victim.

She lived alone much of her life.
She was always very glamorous.

I think she didn't want anyone to see her getting old.
I think that she didn't want to see herself getting old.
So she pushed everyone away using whatever methods would work for each person.
The disconnections were each beautifully personal, almost gift-wrapped.

One day as I was leaving, I leaned close to kiss her good-bye
She whispered that they took her outside at midnight
& held her up, & there was music, & there was moonlight.
& they were going to do it again tonight.

I wondered if she was being abused in the hospital
or if she was telling me she was going to die that night.
Were you dreaming? I asked. She shook her head.
Was it good or bad? She moved her shriveled shoulders in a shrug.
She didn't know. Scared.

All this is filtered through my own illness.
There was a fundamental confusion on my part about whose illness was whose.
& in the dreamy state that illness induced,
I thought I had her unnamed disease, and that she had mine.
That's not quite right. I couldn't tell the difference between her illness and min
e. I really can't explain it.

We who are so far from ourselves & the earth
are drawn to the cultures of the ones who are alive.
We are so deadened. We seek life from the ones we make poor.
I say "we" because whatever standard of living we have has been built on their backs
We in the west try to make them like us: We try to make them dead.
We can't stand that they are in touch with the earth
when we who can build tall buildings have lost ourselves.
If we suceed in making them like us, we will all die--us and them,
beacuse our greed leads us to make this earth
ever more unlivable--physically & psychically.
How can we save the earth when we don't respect the people who live here?

--Janet Goldner

From The Woven Journey (1993)