AN ONGOING DIALOGUE WITH INFINITY’S REFLECTION.
All of my heroes are by definition flawed.
Nor could I relate to them otherwise as I am a Man & not content to be a Caricature. Nor will we be seemingly content, as a restless, angry breed, until EVERY statue is overturned to reveal itself to be bronzed mirrors, & marbled pools of reflection unveiling the truth of who WE have become, those people, who in gazing at the pedestal, are looking straight into the eyes of ourselves displaying the same unforgiving intolerance we claim to be rejecting & rebuking in the images we overthrow.
And devoid of any context that JUST AS IS NOW being amply demonstrated, very few of us will ever mount the courage needed to live outside the boundaries of what the times demand of us now, following wherever the trends may fold, as we meander & thrust our opinions according to what doesn’t call for our censure & elimination from the pious parades that posture & preen as down the boulevards of self righteousness we project the bluster of the ever shifting winds.
Petrified that should we speak out of turn, WE TOO will be treated to the same dark fate of being deleted without even having had the privilege of having been cast in metal, hard clay, or stone, nor a horse to be pushed off of. AND THAT POOR HORSE, WHAT HAS IT EVER DONE TO YOU ?
And how deserving are we of heroes, when with every hiccupping reflex, we immediately upon the mention of their names, begin reciting whatever has been proven of the less than perfect nature of what their journey revealed of their struggle ?
And Who are we without struggle ?
Of the challenges that our bloodlines bequeathed ?
And did not a wise man of great provenance once beseech our compassion with these words ?;
‘Let He Who Is Without Sin, Cast The First Stone’,
while being oblivious to the fact that the march of time, being what it is, will find OUR progeny looking back at US, & cancelling us in our turn for being so lost in the tightly gripped spaces between our own clinched butt cheeks.
Those who spent & invested SO MUCH OF THEIR TIME & ENERGY proving what any fair minded observer understands about the compositional elements that fashion our shapes into the forms known as ‘People’, that we are not ‘Perfect’, that ‘Perfection’ is a Concept & isn’t real except as a useful distraction & is as likely to be attained as the stiff fingers of a breeze catching up to a forlorn feather, not to mention, WERE WE TO ATTAIN PERFECTION, & THEN WHAT ?
While we are HERE; while we remain tethered to the mast, by our great & good fortune, THERE IS WORK TO DO. And without this work, we become troublemakers, testicle thumpers, & nipple tweakers, as IDLE HANDS FINDS THE DEVIL’s WORK.
But what might we ALL agree on ?
The basic customs of manners & civility, of minding our own business,
TO DO UNTO OTHER BITCHES, AS WE’D HAVE THOSE SAME BITCHES DO UNTO US. While being at least WILLING to consider that their work may not be yours, nor bear any resemblance to anything that makes any sense whatsoever to the path your feet have found. And my ‘OPINIONS’ are ONLY that, my own & in return I shall do the work of reminding myself that my point of view needn’t bear any undue consequence upon thy brow, because how I SEE THINGS is MY CROSS to bear, & not yours.
And perhaps in our generosity of spirit in allowing that EVERY PERSON HAS BEEN GIVEN A CROSS TO BEAR, we just might save a lot of valuable time judging others, except in those moments where expedience & common sense dictates otherwise.
There are few things more intoxicating than the collective power contained in the spirit of the angry mob, & yet, there are even fewer instances where the mob has ever been shown to favor the Sensibility of Sanity, once the Vanity of Self Righteousness lowers the body temperature to reduce our Humanity to its Cold Blooded Reptilian Core.
Meanwhile, it remains ever true that ‘Just A Little Mercy Goes A Very Long Way.’ And that we are granted leave by grace, to praise the work that we humans have left to infinity’s memory, while still acknowledging that like we, they may have been
just as fucked as we are, & perhaps were even less pretentious about it. And WHO FORGIVES, finds it less an obstacle in BEING Forgiven themselves.
And nor would it hurt to accept that We Are ALL A Bunch of Bitches & Ain’t Nobody Fooling Anyone.
We just THINK that we are, & so in our Blindness, We Bleed. And in those tracks that our wounds emit, are followed by our follies, while Robert Johnson’s Hounds of Hell sniff behind our Trail Of Tears.
And Brave are they who can stand in the shadow of their own mind, & not be beholden to the fear of what is left unsaid, nor parrot or mimic the message of the tormented & untutored mob. Whose ‘Soup Du Jour’ is EVERY Day, the same Hot Steaming Bowl of Unquestioned Compliance. A Fresh Tablecloth, but the same old stale crackers.
February 15, 2023
© TreeHouse Publishing, 15th Feb 2023