My Logger Gurus,
Did not preach.
They told truth,
As best they could see it.
Lacking the essential tools –
Modern to one’s mental health.
We traverse familiar paths,
Whilst bushwhacking new ones.
Gathering wisdom quietly as we go,
In emphatic discussions,
Curses,
Blood oaths.
Long discussions with a dozen elders,
Once we were old enough –
To be done playing hide and seek,
Amongst the back shelves.
My father spoke to everyone –
As equal.
Devoured their culture –
As fast as they could speak it out loud.
Living in hyperspeed –
Words come as water,
We synthesize infinite possibilities,
In fragments of seconds.
Wisdom is merely the amalgamation,
And application of knowledge.
The ultimate sacrifice,
Thy form unto the empirical method –
Fractured again amongst a hundred selves,
Decades long passed.
They mostly lie dead,
Buried in my homeland.
Logger Gurus,
Men and women I respected.
I have grown wise,
Across a dozen fist fights.
Knowing truths only brutality can teach.
One in a billion,
What does that mean?
My kind is dwindling,
Our allies even faster.
I will play both Icarus,
Daedalus,
Prometheus,
Gaia.
All and one.
One and all.
I am the thunder,
Heir to Gilgamesh.
Boudicca.
Eve.
Walking amongst the aeons,
Like gardens of the cosmos.
Hermit.
Guru.
Only fools claim such a title.
It must be bequeathed,
In honor,
Truth,
Sacrifice,
Freedom of information.
Shared Wisdoms.
