So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown in the fire. Thus you will recognize them by their fruits.
So alone are many of us,
the distances of our age
burning us up.
What does it mean to produce?
more hours before the computer,
more days with bent arm,
the phone at our ear?
These things will not feed us,
because they veil our senses in abstractions,
choke the root
that wants to sink deep into the earth
even as we yearn to open our arms to a wider sky.
If we are not ourselves fed,
how to bless and nourish another
with our presence and attention?
What thorn drives the beloved away,
and what ripe fruit
hangs, even now,
I offer only this:
Do not fear the fire