Wednesday, 3 July 2013
What About Us?
Are we just consumers then? Is that the measure of us? That we fill our lives with baubles as once they were filled with rosaries?
That we leap to find problems, and revel in them, because in doing so we can look as if we care but never have to do anything?
Is this it? That the cheap comeback triumphs over any level of genuine consideration? That playing to the crowd is more important than living? That it has become living for us? That this is what we do?
That we go through our whole lives treating the truth as either fodder for our shrieking, when we it allows that, or an irrelevant inconvenience when it doesn't?
That our only response to being challenged is to fail? To point fingers, apportion blame, divvy up the world into those whose colours we can wear like a football strip, but never have to take to the field, never have to risk the chance of failure?
That we would close our eyes to the fact that this is the norm now, this is the world now.
We have made such amazing advances, such technology of connection and movement. Our world has become so close, so connected, but we have not opened ourselves up to it. We have allowed cheap things to take the place of real things, we all have. Cheap product - and cheap ideas. Cheap little beliefs with no more substance than a shadow, but we sustain them all because we have learned never to question, but only to claim.
And beyond this ridiculous hell we have built for ourselves on the backs of countless millions who slave to produce the cheap things we covet, and at the cost of poisoned seas and choking smog, at the cost of extinctions piled on extinctions, all unnoticed because they are inconvenient, and beyond our narrow gaze?
Our lives have become filled with luxury our ancestors would think of as sorcery, potential and connection that could bring us together as humanity has never been, but it has left us cynical and unkind, hypocritical and cruel.
Beyond this hell we viciously defend like animals (but always with a smile, and an excuse to ourselves, of course, an excuse that is never questioned) lies a universe ignored, brimming with elegance and mystery, waiting to be found, to be lived. And the entry price is courage, and are we to say this is too high a price, and we will wait until a cheap version comes out which is not so much effort, and buy that?
Is this us? Is this our life? Is it?
Are these just words to us? Just one more thing to say, one more thing to read, one more piece of entertainment that, for now, it tickles us to indulge in?
Is this us? Is it?