I listened to the Rasta,
the Monk
and the Buddha
I listen to Christ
and all his Angel's
I listen to the voice
of the Anima,
her glistening beauty

The elemental wisdom of the Natives,
I hear
and those from the past,
settlers,
the sailors
the children

To the teachers,
of materialist
literature

I listen to the music,
the air
and the trees

The gentle whispers of the creek,
and a blaring car alarm

Voices are plenty, and the only truth
is all
all of them, and all as one
some simple reality
behind the veil
of the many