Howling at the Moon

The world has seemed more than usually crazed. And I have been feeling nauseous with the persistence and insistence of it all. One country determined to alienate itself from the only truly special relationships it had, another tearing itself apart and taking the rest of the globe and the weeping Earth with it. And, while our own hands are full of all this rotten fruit, that we’d like to surreptitiously discard but we can’t because someone will see us (and we went noisily to market for this fruit after all), others laugh and mock as they manoeuvre and make-merry, seeing our hands too full to slow their dance, and marvelling at how the pieces of fruit all fell so according to the grand plan. The same grand plan there ever was I suppose. There was always someone at the market determined to knock over someone else’s stall and steal the proceeds. What a history book we are busy making. What a calendar we are capturing for the years ahead.

And meantime, it has been Christmas (for some), and very hard (for some of those and others) and heart-breaking (for many, many more than it should ever be). As the few make their determinations for what the many deserve, and decide … “well actually, I don’t think I want them to have their dignity today. Or tomorrow. There we go. Now, is it lunchtime yet?”

And meanwhile the weeping Earth is showing its teeth, as its anger erupts and seismic waves traverse all the oceans, and no-one quite knows why. And who is it that suffers? Not the few to be sure. And can we really be surprised, when they make determinations to plunder the Earth’s wealth in order to inflate their own. What kind of wealth is this, that can buy us gold but turn our hearts to ash?

And the creatures of the Earth … What did they ever do but try and live? They cannot have their dignity either. Because … well … that one is in the way of progress, or this one belongs to me and I will have it because you say I can’t. The whale and the wolf have only gold at their hearts, but the ash will catch up with them too. We will see to that.

And today I am small. As I am every day, but today I feel it deeply. As the wind howls and blows the sleep from my eyes. Neither me, nor whale, nor merry-maker can stop the wind when it chooses to howl. And I swear the wolf will howl with it at the end of the final day. It will not be us. We will be long gone. We will be ash.


Copyright © 2018 · Forty and Everything After



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