(2)


My desire for solitude is, some would say, excessive.  But it is not, I would submit, altogether unreasonable.  I admit to being something of a misanthrope; my distrust of humans runs deep.  As individuals I find humans to be frequently honest, intelligent and kind, but as a species I think we remain too self-interested, too self-serving, to make good on our presumed role as the assigned inheritors of the earth.  Our lust for power, our assumption of a degree of wisdom we have not necessarily attained, the self-righteousness of our vanity and the greediness of our pride, are making a wreckage of all that complex and delicately arrayed splendor once everywhere to be found in the natural world . . .

I don't know that there's much wisdom, however, to be shown in remarking generally upon the age in which I live.  It would probably be wiser to follow common practice and acknowledge that it's only the future which can give any true perspective, any real hope of understanding, to the past.  After all, the human condition is such that our ability to perceive who and what we are, as well as who and what we may become, remains inextricably interwoven with the times in which we live; I can't pretend to be objective and probably shouldn't set myself up as judge.  Yet it seems to me impossible to deny that we are less able now than ever before to state with any certainty what hope there is for tomorrow.  Having suffered during the course of recent history two World Wars, the Holocaust, social and political revolutions too numerous to count, the threat of nuclear devastation, technological advancements occurring at an ever-increasing pace, and pollution of such magnitude that for nature this is already a time of devastation, it's difficult not to fall prey to the belief that we are ushering in an era of very bleak consequences indeed.  "What the hell happened?" may well turn out to be the only question left for future generations to ask.

We live, it seems to me, in an increasingly caustic world, a world in which corruption has become so all pervasive as to seem like an inescapable, and therefore acceptable, condition of our existence, our resignation in the face of it an unavoidable, and therefore blameless, response.  We live in a world in which the most flagrant waste of money and resources exists side by side with whole populations of people living in the most wretched destitution.  A world in which more animals are now becoming extinct than has occurred since the extinction of the dinosaurs, where pollution has grown so extensive that there are many who believe the damage caused by it is already beyond repair.  It's a world where political ideologies are used as an excuse for massacring the innocent, while religions of love and forgiveness have become a mere front for bigotry and hate.  A world in which people have come to believe that the best way to fight against the atrocities of terrorism is to adopt the same attitudes and behaviors as those whom they have vowed to defeat.  It's a world in which whole countries are governed by nothing more nor less than monetary gain, its individual members being played like disposable pawns in order to satisfy the dictates of corporate greed.  A world in which people gone berserk with the anger and despair of their own captivity to this greed and corruption sometimes commit mass murder as a means of retribution, shooting down whomever their tortured minds cause them to perceive to be their enemy, or simply firing at random into crowds of complete strangers – an act so heinous as to almost defy belief, yet one which occurs with such frequency now as to almost border on the commonplace.

How have we come to such an impasse?  Was there not some better course we might have chosen to follow?  Perhaps.  And then again, perhaps not.  We are partly what we choose to be; partly we are what the world makes us become.  Many people today feel they have no choice but to consent, as a general condition placed on their existence, to the gradual corruption of their desire for a more enlightened, humane, and evolved society in which to live, but they do so only because they find themselves unable to recognize from what source that corruption springs, or feel themselves to be incapacitated in their ability to fight against that corruption even when its source has been correctly identified.  When the systems we invent to assist us in our governance become so deeply habituated within our own minds that it is no longer possible to envision alternative possibilities, we may find that the scope of our individual potential has been correspondingly diminished – and with that diminishment, find diminished as well the ability to control our destinies, our fates, our own lives . . .






THE ANIMALS



Savage dreamers from long-ago times
Could not have foretold of this dark passage.
When they peered out with dumb animal eyes
From between the leaves at distant stars
They saw dimly the eyes of gods,
But knew not that gods might weep for us.

Now a blight is spreading across the land;
It blots out the sun and poisons the water.
Now the animals are creeping from out of their houses;
Each in the dark sky sees their own angry face.
They've no one to answer to but one another;
Hopeless and helpless they don't believe a word

But stare down with dumb eyes at their uplifted palms,
Wondering what solace this nighttime can bring
When dreams have grown dreadful and stars become hidden;
Wondering from whom they might seek forgiveness.
The animals shut their eyes to the darkness,
And from the darkness within, hear the weeping of gods.






As for me, I am, as said, one who prefers his own company to the company of others; all I seek now is to complete the process of growing impervious to all external demands and so complete the shelter of my self-solitude.  I wonder about the world; I wonder about myself.  But not too much – never too much.  There seems little point, for there is little enough that I can do to change either.  Instead, I simply wait and watch.  I wait and I watch, just to see, to see . . .






2 A.M.



thought is useless

lying here in my bed
it keeps running through my head that
thought is useless

it's me
inside the shattering mirror
just me

(who lives only to adore
these moments stolen from the night;
these moments when I no longer care
if I'm wrong or if I'm right;
when I do not care
if I live or die;
do not care
if  I  I  I:
when all I know is)

thought is useless

embraced
by the shattered mirror
I rise slowly
into dreams

reassembling
ignorant wings








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