Look to Yourself

 

We are so besotted with ourselves

wallowing in the certainty that we

are unique, none others that live

or have ever lived, or will live

can possibly be as we are. Our

every experience, emotion and

reaction is ours and ours alone. It

is as though our Creator took endless

time, and thought and effort to pursue

a blueprint ours alone that no other

could conceivably possess. Our

shallow conceit speaks to our love

of self in a way that is never

extended outward to encompass

humanity at large which surely

has its own argument, each and

every one of their own enriched

passions and perceptions that none

others can emulate for it is beyond

their abilities. All of which enable us

to look with covert disdain on all

others though a genius once took

pains to message us all through words

and sentiments of immortal value.

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? 
Hath not a Jew hands, organs
dimensions, senses, affections 
passions; fed with the same food
hurt with the same weapons
subject to the same diseases 
healed by the same means, warmed 
and cooled by the same winter and 
summer as a Christian is? If you 
prick us do we not bleed? 
If you tickle us do we not laugh? 
If you poison us do we not die? 
And if you wrong us shall we not 
revenge? If we are like you in 
the rest, we will resemble you 
in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
 what is his humility? Revenge. 
If a Christian wrong a Jew, what 
should his sufferance be by Christian 
example? Why, revenge. The 
villainy you teach me I will execute                                                                                       and it shall go hard but I                                                                                                       will better the instruction.

 

A Light Unto The Nations

 

In the annals of human lore there are

unique and rare stories whose ancient

origins are located in the mists of time

and this is one of them. This is a story

of humankind whose iteration is endless.

One for which there is surely a genesis but

just as surely no limit. It endures in all its

manifestations with no sign of flagging

as it makes its way into the future. It is

not a fable, not a myth, not a folk story

but a repeatable occurrence that no

measurable calamity is capable of stemming.

For the cause and the reaction stirs itself to

life without end. It is not exactly a story

of unrequited love, nor is it a story of

human compassion overcoming adversity.

This story is, by any measure, one of

ghastly horrors, of a mass rejection of

the presence of a people upon whom is

visited, era following era, catastrophic

enmity and annihilation. It is a people

among whom the seed of genius has been

generously endowed yet whose purported

character is unfailingly held in contempt.

It is a people for whom hope and a future is

denied but  to which they themselves cling fast.

 

To The Manor Borne

 

Royalty knows its place, one like none

other; where once it was the masses that

served their imperial highnesses modernity

has decreed that now those of high royal

birth whose status remains funded by the

great public, now serve the masses and the

greater interests of society, a society unable

to expunge from its imagination nobility's

vaunted presence celebrating high birth's

unique place in societies priding themselves

on egalitarian progressiveness. Royal

houses seek to find favour increasingly

by appearing as one of the masses they so

ably represent, accepting they are but human

albeit of a gilded variety, and eager to curry

favour of those taxed to fund a sumptuous

lifestyle burdened with public service, no longer

seek out those of extended royal blood for

marriage. Youthful iterations of nobility

search out their own choices and invariably

introduce their royal forbears to commoners

of heart-stealing virtue. Alas, genetics impinge

and those to the manner born in superior

self-regard scorn tradition and the trappings

of royalty, sending head-spinning messages

of rejection as  they indulge in lese-majeste.

 

 

Oppression, Persecution, Revolt

 

Tyrannical rulers invent the rules of their

realm starting with their reliance that those

whose lives they dictate meekly defer to

those with state power knowing full well

the default of inevitable arrest, imprisonment

torture and death declaring them enemies of

the state. Should an almighty deity be invoked

as proof the tyrants are vested with godly

authority, all the greater obeisance and

obedience follows. But even the oppressed

and the downtrodden will recognize limits

to their despairing conditions when resignation

impulsively transforms into viral outrage, their

humiliation and powerlessness sparks into

flaming dissent and a mass revolt erupts

when one and then another domestic atrocity

too many leaves them reeling in disbelief

at the excess of inhumanity they are subjected

to with casual ease. Then, the tide turns when

the tyrants understand the power of numbers

reflecting an unstoppable tide of rejection

and a universal call for the regime's downfall.

Initial brutality, the swift response to quell the

riots fail, leaving the rulers to quail in dismay

offer profound apologies, promise reform in

deference to the peoples' wishes but nothing

can now defuse the volcanic eruption of human

grief and rage prepared to destroy those whose

preoccupation has too long been the ultimate

challenge of vanquishing the human spirit.

 

 

I Think, Therefore I Am

17th-century, Consciousness, Robert Fludd

What peculiar quirks nature has devised in

her impeccable creation, endowing me and

thee with consciousness, awareness, the

capacity to think and to plan, to imagine and

to theorize, exercising cerebral function as

though we are not merely one with nature

but perhaps nature itself. As a powerful

instrument forever challenging understanding

of what, where and how we fit into the world

around us, and how that world exists in a vast

constellation of other worlds, of stars and volatile

gases and minerals revolving and evolving, our

thought processes explore the vastness of the

unknown, theorizing and experimenting as

though we were not ourselves merely the dust

of exploding stars but the creator of all that

exists. Imagine this: theoretical physicists

studying quantum mechanics play with the

notion of the unknown of creation and its

sister existence in the wan belief that what

we think of as consciousness is but an illusion

as is the world we inhabit, ourselves included

for without our observance creating that

presence it would not, perforce exist. Really.

 

Beware The Urban Forest

 

They are sagacious creatures, bold and

masters of strategy as befits those of

the animal kingdom's predators. Much

after all, depends on their practised

hunting habits, for in their ancestral

habitat they maintain a balance in the

presence of creatures they stalk. They

are also particularly adaptable, since

their once-wild geography was invaded

and with little interest in seeking refuge

from interlopers they have become

extremely skilled at slinking about in

the background making full use of the

same green spaces so valued by other

animal species including man. Human

habitation in close proximity to those

natural places where they can den and

procreate is of little account for they

are also adept at scavenging albeit not

preferentially. Their appearance is

similar to that of the dogs that people

walk in natural settings, oblivious to

the presence of untamed canids though

the dogs detect their presence alerting

themselves that long-distance cousins

are about, seldom imagining themselves

prey. Silently lurk the coyotes awaiting

opportunities; one offering the prospect

of play-time friendly dogs are eager to

indulge in, unaware that others unseen

follow behind fully prepared for action.

 

 

Where Are You?

 

 

They're there, simply there, though not
often seen when geography creates distance.
A vague acknowledgement that one has
sisters and brothers that time has
distanced. Absence makes memory
fainter, not necessarily fonder and little
time and emotion is harnessed to stray
thoughts of their lack of presence, despite
early shared familial experiences.

Yet, as we age and our lives move ever
yet tangentially, there arises the piquant
sadness of longing for something lost and
neglected. With age comes illness and
emotional deprivations; the realization
that we are alone, the inspiration to
re-discover lost siblings, the urge and
the spur to act, to reach out, to recover.

Shared blood and belonging now entreats
the elderly to reach back in time and
memory, to find that elusive comfort, the
mutual sympathy siblings harbour for one
another as they move inexorably toward
life's concluding stages. The instant grasping
of rapport re-visited, the tenderness, the
unspoken grief and gratitude, all there
awaiting that call to rescind distance
and emotional wavering of uncertainty.

There is much to say, to express, to
commiserate with, to update and to pledge
for the future. To casually, carelessly lose
grasp of those binding ties an error in
judgement reflecting bereft values and a life
too concerned with surface issues of scant
moment. To restore the loss requires a
simple resolution: I am here, where are you?
Please, meet me half way to our future.