The reverberations of history
An interior veiw,
In spite of my diminishing health, the omnipresent turmoil, the malevolent forces loosed when we, as a nation, opened Pandora's box of false promises, the wicked, wacky, wonderful world continues to rotate and revolve, swirling gasses, contradictions and doublespeak travel too the circular orbit of its remarkable, atmospheric, biospheric fluid drive.
Historically speaking, the rational man is confounded at every turn. Fortunately for mankind, some have constitutions made of iron and continue regardless of what passes for wisdom but most knuckle under the wheel.
The ever increasing quest for creature comfort trumps man's better nature and provides an irresistible incentive to deny what is true and pursue what is false. The ones whose profits produce extreme, out of proportion, unjustifiable wealth bury their contradictions, lies and hypocrisy via mega trends, collateralized debt obligations and other hocus pocus vehicles of deceit and, in turn, reward themselves like never before in our short economic history.
Staying on the righteous path requires a warrior's will, in places it's impassable, overgrown with bad ideas and abandoned artifice. Do we cut through or go around? We see nomads along the way. They have decided to be independent of the truth and the lie. We envy them but know their life is hard and short. We want something that has been vaguely promised to us in a dream: a hearth, education, health, respect, in short, a noble existence. By default, the straightest line to our desires takes precedence and does not include nobility in our quiver or a path made wide enough for others to tread.
The nouveau unions of flim-flam men, Wall Street Barons and K-Street lobbyists have undercut the previous tried and true systems of labor intensive product based wealth and, instead, have opted for the instant gratification of exported jobs and imported poverty while raining cheap electronics on our heads to distract and entertain us.
Although capitalists cry, "No system is perfect," or, "We didn't make the system," by our actions and inactions we ARE making the system. Without participation, there is no system.
We stumble like drunks in the night. We search for the keys to unlock our impotency but our fingers are no longer tactile having evolved to hold drinks and count money. We curse the darkness and our fate. We strike out against people and things that have nothing to do with our miserable failures. When the inevitable, karmic tab come due, we cry, "Quick, find someone, anyone but me to blame!"
Our blindness has disconnected our natural understanding and worse; we pretend that what we do and have done has no bearing on what lies ahead or shapes our future. We have disassembled society, we are a collection of competing desires, we no more know how to live than how to die.
Once, to die on the battlefield was enough and gave completeness to our lives, in it were honor and strength, now hospices and nursing homes drain our bodies and minds. We languish and can't understand why fate has been so cruel.
We have sold our mysterious, eternal nature for the security of repetition and compromise. We hammered flat our existence in order to stretch it to it's limit. We sought equality through our basest emotions. Death harvests us like a crop.
- *This is the way the world ends
- This is the way the world ends
- This is the way the world ends
- Not with a bang but a whimper.
*T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men