(thoughts from ~burning woman~ by Sha’Tara)
I haven’t had much time for blogging lately, being as they say, busy. But surprisingly, I’ve had time, perhaps too much time, to think about this world, about its overall condition and where it is heading, apparently heedless and unaware. I know this is a judgment forming an opinion, but not once in my entire life of 70 years has my sense of where things are going ever been wrong. It’s like a compass in my mind, something I can “see” and rely on entirely, basing my personal movements on it, knowing when to “hold and when to fold” as the song goes.
I feel massive waves of sorrow passing over me time and again, triggered by many encounters: a baby in its mother’s arms; an old man hunched over waiting to safely cross a busy street; a homeless lady holding a sign saying, ‘Please buy my CD, I’m hungry’ and displaying a CD she probably found in a dumpster – (she got lucky: I saw her and I chose to believe her despite all the propaganda against her) or even moved to a helpless stop by the wind’s choreography of tree branches not yet covered in leaves. A house hunched behind a sagging gate; a rusting sign from a business that went broke years before…
Have you ever just “thought” about “the world” and had tears well in your eyes until they started flowing down your cheeks? Closed your eyes and brought your hands together as if in prayer, though you don’t pray? Then thinking, ‘Do I want to be here?’ and knowing the answer is ‘No, I don’t want to feel this, this way, connected to this chaos of ignorance, of pain, of apparent mindlessness. I don’t want to be the stranger any longer; to not be able to speak to the trees, the birds, the clouds. I’m tired of just feeling and finding it so terribly difficult to harness those feelings; to draw intelligence, awareness, understanding, acceptance and meaningful teaching from them. That is probably neither their purpose, nor task but I’m breaking the rules here.’
Life, I find, is like driving a street. Some parts are smooth, some rough. Some are safe and some, well, you may not get out of alive. The truly sad part is, much of life is entered into without its overall costs duly assessed. People are programmed, it seems, to repeat patterns and unable to stop and consider the risks, the odds, based on previous lives, previous experiences of elder people, or people in history. ‘What are my chances this is going to work as I hope?’ Is not the question asked. Plunge into the swamp, there are no alligators here! But there are, disguised as floating logs. You may have passed your swimming tests and won medals, but guaranteed: terror is but a splash behind you, and it isn’t virtual reality.
Too dark a vision? Probably, but some of us have chosen a path that runs counter to that of the herd and we see that which the herd isn’t permitted to see, and would not want to see in any case.
Someone has to shed burning hot tears for the dying. It’s a difficult but necessary matter of balance.