What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
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Sunday Morning Update: 12/08/24
Listen carefully to the sounds around the world. Syria’s al-Assad has disappeared. A 50-year dynasty has been deposed. What began with “Arab Spring” ended with over 500,000 dead. Some celebrate—some mourn. Others worry. Will terrorism return? Who has control of chemical weapons? Where are the Kurds? What happens to foreign bases? Humanity excels at creating complex situations and problems that are not easily solved. For all the wars and conflicts, we remain our own worst enemy.
Step away. Ignore the world and read. Spend more time in critical thought. Let the words sink deep. Mull the choice of vocabulary. Consider the implications. Parse what can be taken at face value from that which hides deeper meaning. Expand the ways you see the world.
Step away. Arm yourself with a fresh view of history. Read the books others want banned, even if you’ve read them before. Force yourself to answer the tough questions. Open more than one text at a time so that the brain in your head does not get lazy. Push your mind into unfamiliar territory. Glean wisdom from sources you’ve never known.
Step away. Give yourself time to think. Write down your thoughts. Wrestle with the words. Scratch out that last sentence and try again. Do not type with speed. Question yourself. Argue against your opinions. Let no conclusion go untested. Check the influence of your native biases. Give no ground to the mythologies of your youth.
Refill the coffee mug. The dogs that woke early now rest comfortably on the bed. Thoughts bombard my head, each fighting to be heard. What does it matter that the Eras tour has ended? What are the consequences of old shoes selling for $28 million? Fools part with money even as their own cupboards grow bare. The songs that linger now are those sung long ago. Cherished memories leave no souvenirs.
Age colours my vision. Depth of field is set by my experience. I wander. Is that the ticking of the clock or the sound of my boots as I pace the hallway? How many circles can I make before my legs collapse? I would dance but the music changes too quickly.
No one is well. We struggle to breathe. Moving brings us pain. Eating makes us ill. Medicine numbs us to the cancer that eats at our bodies. We sympathize. We empathize. Yet, we cannot help ourselves let alone give aid to others. We need… so much.
Spin around one last time. Step away.
Hold me. Close.
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