The Mad Farmer Secedes from the Union

The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of White Flint, Secedes From the Union
 
 From the union of power and money,
 from the union of power and secrecy,
 from the union of government and science,
 from the union of government and art,
 from the union of science and money,
 from the union of ambition and ignorance,
 from the union of genius and war,
 from the union of outer space and inner vacuity,
 the Mad Farmer walks quietly away.

 There is only one of him, but he goes.
 He returns to the small country he calls home,
 his own nation small enough to walk across.

 He goes shadowy into the local woods,
 and brightly into the local meadows and croplands.
 He goes to the care of neighbors,
 he goes into the care of neighbors.
 He goes to the potluck supper, a dish from each house
 for the hunger of every house.
 He goes into the quiet of early mornings
 of days when he is not going anywhere.

 Calling his neighbors together into the sanctity of their lives
 separate and together
 in the one life of their commonwealth and home,
 in their own nation small enough for a story
 or song to travel across in an hour, he cries:

 Come all ye conservatives and liberals
 who want to conserve the good things and be free,
 come away from the merchants of big answers,
 whose hands are metalled with power;
 from the union of anywhere and everywhere
 by the purchase of everything from everybody at the lowest price
 and the sale of anything to anybody at the highest price;
 from the union of work and debt, work and despair;
 from the wage-slavery of the helplessly well-employed.

 From the union of self-gratification and self-annihilation,
 secede into care for one another and for the good gifts of Heaven and Earth.

 Come into the life of the body, the one body
 granted to you in all the history of time.
 Come into the body’s economy, its daily work,
 and its replenishment at mealtimes and at night.
 Come into the body’s thanksgiving, when it knows
 and acknowledges itself a living soul.
 Come into the dance of the community, joined
 in a circle, hand in hand, the dance of the eternal
 love of women and men for one another
 and of neighbors and friends for one another.
 
 Always disappearing, always returning,
 calling his neighbors to return, to think again
 of the care of flocks and herds, of gardens
 and fields, of woodlots and forests and the uncut groves,
 calling them separately and together, calling and calling,
 he goes forever toward the long restful evening
 and the croak of the night heron over the river at dark.

-- Wendell Berry

이 분의 저서 "온 삶을 먹다. (Bringing it to the table)"를 추천합니다.

기술자에서 이제는 귀농하여 농부가 된 이요한 교우가 부러운 이유!