“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Unknowingly, in my poetry I had barely begun to form some concepts that would help me. Just before the sessions began the idea of “The Idiot” came to me as a symbol of inner truth that appears to be complete nonsense to the reasoning mind at times; or at best, highly impractical in normal living. I’d written two poems on the idea, and the day after the starlings were killed, I did another:

The Idiot

The idiot cries.
The tears slosh inside his boots.
The people say he’s bats
Because he weeps
When the police shoot down the starlings
Aiming at the tall-eyed trees.

The idiot swears
That the birds are holy.
He shouts as the starlings drop
And the police chuckle good-naturedly
“Stop. The spirits are displeased.
Look how the bare branches rustle.”

“Do unto others, I tell you.”
He wanted to say more
But they carted him off.
The good people laughed.
On the ground was a puddle
Of the idiot’s tears.