This is about the response the public has to Greta Thunberg. In many ways, the plight of a mere teenager with autism is in itself inspiring, but the fact that she has become the voice of today’s possibly doomed youth is what is the most noteworthy. She speaks for the rest of us, too, when she begs the corporatist overlords to take note and turn climate change around.
She will look great on Time magazine. Maybe, in some ways it will show the world Americans are not all the same orange tinted jerk in the White House. She speaks for us all. We care what she says. My dad was watching her talk on Facebook and the locals here in Colorado were commenting. He said they were so mean to her; that they said horrible things.
They can’t stand women or female children. They threaten the male dominated destruction of the planet. I think it’s appalling that our society’s heroes are all guys in wars or men in the face of danger. I love men – heroes, make no mistake. However, the diligent, determined and wise heroism of Greta trumps a lot of patriotic worship of warriors.
I believe the leaders of tomorrow must speak out now when they are kids, or they won’t get to speak at all. The great warning is upon us. If we have any sense, we will listen. Has anyone noticed that although our pollution is creating more developmental disabilities, it is also producing a new batch of genius children to call y’all out on your ways?
Many of my followers believe that those of us with autism like me who speak the truth or even merely vibrate it, are signs of universal awakening among humans moving toward what they call the ascension. I don’t know about that. I think it, in itself, is sort of a ghost dance of the end times. But I am very willing to insist that as humans, some of us may have evolved special powers to call out the bullshit. That is my sacred task.
My dad knows that we must follow the children. He always knew. Now I’m telling you the same. Follow the children – they are the only ones who can save us. Here is the poem:
Follow the Children
by Les Reed
When into the world drenched of time
come star-fresh eyes to recast it,
its denizens too weary
to bear the cost
of repristination deny
their need in a silence of consensus. . .
And so reborn is tragedy
in shades of gray . . .
ever aching beneath the surface
swelling
the world awaiting
its own potential joyous birth.
I say, instead sit
at the feet of children
rainbows arc from their mouths.
Find the tiny spring
of joy at the self's center:
Treat it as precious gold.
From thieves of time protect it;
treat it as it were a bird
fallen from the nest.
Do not let it wither.
With happy abandon God
made the sky, then stepped across it,
leaving footprints filled with starlight.
Do so the same.
This world to make and save
needs creation every day.
When the stranger arrives, listen to his heartful message, then rise, and go with him into the cosmos of his making.
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