Be at peace, dear little Kubanda…
July 25 2017
From the first moment you appeared on this miserable yet magickal wall of light and sound, my heart responded to you. A baby Spotted Hyena, you were like others of your Kind, just as precious, small and tender. But you, dear little one, my heart was commanded, “You must name me! You must! Now!”
My mind did not know the peculiar understanding in my heart. There is no reasonable explanation for the heart’s demands and especially not this demand. Why did the heart press so insistingly? What can the heart possibly know that the mind does not?
But I obeyed my heart, as I am helpless to do, and named you, dear little one, Kubanda. It is a Xhosa word which means cold, like one who feels deeply chilled from a Northern Winter wind that suddenly bursts through and shatters the fragile end of tender Fall.
Little dear Kubanda you should not have been left to starve to death. It was a terrible injustice upon you and all your Kind. Half a world away, all I could do was see you wither away. There was no reason for it. There is no reasonable explanation for such an alien indifference put upon you that a few mere morsels of unselfish care could have easily remedied. I do not know why they turned their hearts off and turned away. Their explanations are hollow fabrications of self-indulgence designed to protect just themselves.
And yet all I know, all I hear is your last desperate cries for your Mother whom you did not know was deceased and never returning, all I see now forever more is your withering frame that I could not help and they would not help.
It would not do any good even to damn them for this their sin of callousness against Divinity, that all their dreams now til their last breath be of remembrances of you and what they could do but did not.
There is no cure for those who turn off their hearts from their bond, indebtedness and duties to Mother Nature. They who regard your and all Others lives merely a means to an end of their personal and ultimately empty gains. For those so Blessed with evolved minds which can recall history, analyze the present, guess for the future better than their ancestors who bore them, are so endowed to serve beyond themselves, to serve those less able.
My dear, little Kubanda, I put my knees to the hard stone ground, though half a world away from where you now eternally rest, the ground upon which you drifted into your last sleep, and I send you all this useless love and prayer to your Spirit. Blessed Divinity share upon this Spirit of precious Kubanda, dear, little one, helpless in life, be free, be in Light, be in Love.
Like all the others, I love you and shall until my last breath.
” Speak softly Love, so no one hears us but the Sky. . . ”
‘An it harm none, Blessed be…