Unforgiven

It began years ago. Before life existed. Before I ever thought of being who I became. Before I thought of anyone but myself, a fateful scenario, as we all at one time or another take our own council, when it comes to a future. We are prepared to shed our familial ties, friendships, whatever it takes to achieve a sense of freedom we seek, need.

We never manage however to shed all ties, as that would mean abandoning the part of our lives and the people who contributed to who we have become. We have a tendency to keep what we need from the past, as we vow to discard the rest. We hear only what we want to hear and disregard the rest; a refrain that implies we choose to believe, no matter the evidence, no matter the truth.

Everything either becomes tangible or remains a dream, but much like white noise we push many of our dreams to the back of our minds, where we won’t be influenced by them. Reality believes only in today; tomorrow is for another time and place.

If the realm of reality was the only way to live, my life would be different, easier. I have been manipulated by an unseen force that drives me in a direction, that no matter the apparent cost to me, I can’t or won’t deviate from its course. I believe it is something I've inherited from the thousands of chanced meetings in my unremembered past, that have culminated in my being me, the one now left holding the rainbow in one hand, a flat tire in the other.

It is winter. I sit by the window watching the grass pretend to grow, the clouds refuse to let the sun come in. The humming bird, deciding whether he’d gone far enough south, or should it be satisfied living off the generosity of an old fool, that finds pleasure in watching a neurotic bird that believes it shares a normalcy with all the other birds.

I look back on a life of toil, and with no regret. I’ve enjoyed the process of creation. Building; the process of changing raw materials into tangible solutions of need. There is something mystical about looking back at a dream, and celebrating it, by having changed it into reality. Seeing a rack of hewn beams, milled lumber, turned into something that provides shelter and much more; it offers a sense of tranquility that makes life worth the effort.

When we create a home, we are in effect creating an environment we own, we control. The way a home looks, its design, the materials used, its orientation, all give a glimpse into the nature of the people who reside within. A home is a creation of ones own vision of heaven, happiness. The picture on the walls, the floors, rugs, what you envision when looking out the window into a world yet to be built, is a dream of a new reality.

   The tree I planted years ago, nothing but a living stick that now towers above creation, causing a feeling of trepidation as I contemplate the next storm, aware it is not an eventuality and is capable of saving itself.  

But a home is more than just wood, pictures, trees. It is a place we go to sequester, find peace and contentment. A place that we store the pieces of our history. Smiles, laughs, graduations, marriages, funerals, all placed in a safe in the soul of our grotto until we need them. 

As I grow older, especially during these times, when change seems to slap you in the face at every turn, if only to get your attention, I look at what reality has become. The pulse of the community, neighborhood, world, beating like a mad drummer on the street diverting attention from what matters, while we stand at attention waiting for a sign to forgive ourselves for not having done enough, paid attention. 

Wars, injustice, the chaos that keeps the newspapers alive with the agitated spirit of hopelessness, finds its way into every crack in life, a weed looking for a place to inhabit, conquer. 

As the wind blows, and the tree sways perilously, I realize looking back, how perception has taken on new meaning, and a different interpretation of the truth.

    “Love it or leave it,” a familiar chorus directed at those who believed it unpatriotic, to not kill for a cause they did not believe in. Now, we no longer have to leave, we simply accept the version of truth that suits our beliefs. Everyone, so busy living other people’s lives, we don’t have time to live their own.

Wanting things, not because they offer a benefit, but because someone else possesses them, a new way of flattering greed. The epic struggle of want and need plays itself out daily. Selling what little time we are allowed, in hopes that someone will find a cure for the “inevitable.” 

What if that were to happen? Would we shed the desire of want and settle for the simplicity of need. I have been fortunate in that although I’ve not always enjoyed what I needed to do to sustain those dependent upon me, I always sought the purpose, the necessity of doing the work. Perhaps that is a method of self-deception, but I prefer to believe it provides logic, where there seems to be none.

Self-delusion is just one way we survive an environment of people and things, we don’t understand. Our economy is fueled by consumerism, which in turn survives by devouring itself in the name of progress. It is in that vein I find myself abandoned, by both need and want. Heaven is no longer a goal at the end of my rainbow, but a means to usurp the future of those that will inherit the hell we have left in its place. 

I am disappointed in the human family, humanity in general, where need and want have been infused with desire and envy, to sire a capitalistic idealism that has disregarded the dichotomy of need and want.

To sacrifice the fundamentals of life, for little more than more, leaves me contemplating the promise of more with less, the aged lesson proposed as our salvation. The ultimate conclusion to the madness is of course, doing everything with nothing. The empathy of want and the disdain of need, has left us with a world incapable of sustaining our arrogance. 

My disappointment would be less, if it were not for the trail of tears we leave for the future, to inherit.  It will be forced to live with dictates that have been imposed on it because of an allegiance to progress, without the understanding of repercussion.

It may be too late to amend the effects of greed, but I must sever the ties to a system that believes only in itself. A system that promotes the individual acceptance of manifest destiny, at the expense of a planet.

I was there when life slithered from the slime. I was there when the World Wars attempted to take it back. I watched the mushroom cloud remind us that it won’t be water but fire next time. And I was there when we asked if it was too late, and yet we continued to act as if it were a miscalculation.

I will continue to believe in the future, as it is what we have been genetically programmed to do. I will continue to believe the planet will survive after we have slipped back into a forgotten past with all the fanfare of a star that has been dead for a million years.

We have cheated, not only ourselves, but those who are yet to rebel against the injustice exposed by a future looking back at a past, and wondering what happened during that time we refer to, as now. We have run out of options and must now tell those responsible, we will no longer take responsibility for their blindness, and disregard their attempts to change the truth to lies, simply because, we are human.