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Terrified of children,
how could I ever teach?
They are like the wind
blowing across the desert.
Where is it coming from?
Listen to the materialists.
They say:
It is matter, speaking,
the stones, crying out
- and is that not
a terrifying thing?
But what if the materialists
are wrong?
where is it
coming from? Is that not
even more terrifying?
I live in the desert now,
in a hut. afraid to go out,
to leave, to face
the wind, the
children of the world.
Who are either the overwhelming
force of nothing, or
other than the world -
older than the world -
ripples on the surface of a vast
sea that is roaring
round the playground.
How could I ever teach
what is either a dead thing or
life itself, Life Eternal,
sitting in a classroom,
putting its hand up,
asking me questions.