The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed,
and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction,
while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight:
a waste of desert sand; A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs,
while all about it Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. Yeats’s “The Second Coming.”
here's a response from director/producer/editor Laura Dunn as she speaks about her Wendell Berry documentary The Seer. It starts with Wendell talking about piecing things together..
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