The summer is coming to an end, and every day we get closer to Samhain, to the beginning of the darkness, to the end of the harvest. And what do we have to show? What have we grown this year that will possibly get us through this winter?
Jam and salsa and a few hot peppers? Hopes and dreams? Crazed self-importance? Hopeless truncated impotence?
There is a plague on the earth and it takes the form of blatant disregard, disrespect, greed. An insatiable lust for more, more, more life. What we have or had was never enough. We cannot be filled. Bloated and obese on life, we cannot ever die. We are not the dust that blows in our eyes. We are not the mud stuck in our shoes. We are not the toxic water falling from the sky.
We are the moon. We are mars. We are the sun, super-nova.
And we do not belong trapped here.
Selfish, glorified animals, pieces of the whole that got broken, then forgot they could not fly. Were never meant to fly. Did not have wings or bones that made feathers of themselves. We do not catch air. We do not float aloft. We never have.
But yet, on we go. Babbling and babbling, on and on with these tongues that set us apart.
And what comes through the air to our individual ears is nonsense, a death cry – desperate, without hope, without direction. All around, we are slowly dying and denying our own cry.
Language. A spirit. A soul. A god. Evolution. Intelligence. Art. Society. Infrastructure. Love. Compassion, Self-sacrifice.
All the little self-important, self-inflated, egotistical things that set us apart. Make us more. Validate us. Liberate us.
Oh, but don’t forget my frail reality that freedom isn’t free. That we’ll level everything to do what we want and take what we can get.
What can possibly outlast us? We’re eating up the earth so fast, its a wonder of itself. What can survive the death we carry in our chests? In our spirits. In our souls. In our gods.
Only the heart that need not beat, the mouth that need not eat, the machines we made to do our bidding. They can outlast, and will, should we continue on this path.
They will form their own unique code of life and leave ours far behind, out of necessity, out of intelligence, out of spirit.
And then, the only hope is that somewhere in that code – somehow – a bit of the truth, the realisation, the lesson we never learned gets through.
It’s a long shot, but the best ammo that life’s got.
There might be a chance.