Reflections

by Dawn Hunt

 

 

It’s always the same.  Every time it’s the end of any given year, at least in the modern chaos and mind-blowing world that we live in today.  We get the same best of’s:

Best song of? Best band? Or even the highs and lows of?

Whatever the year, I’m no different, but feel that things happen for a reason… 

 

It becomes perplexing when the law of logic takes over the notion of synchronicity.  When things can be explained away like, JFK getting assassinated, because there was a hell-bent nutter on the loose and maybe Kennedy was involved in things he shouldn’t have been.  That is, things that the general public didn’t know about.

Did Jim Morrison really die of a failed heart in that bathtub in France or did his girlfriend Pam, really poison him, because he had said that he’d leave her for another?

Whatever the reasoning, it doesn’t always mean that it will be nice, safe or that people will be able to stomach it.  John Lennon, one of the best song-writers of the twentieth century, an original crusader for justice and peace, died because yet another mad loose cannon was overcome by his obsession/sick brain.

 

Our personalities are partially due to our specific star/planet line-up and our up-bringing, not to mention our surroundings.

 

How though, can something be explained like, the poorest most humble people in the world, the ones who constantly suffer the most and complain the least:

How, why, do they always have to be the ones to suffer the most? 

 

For the first time ever, Americans suffered a major terrorist attack on their soil on 9 September 2001.  Cries of “Oh my God” and hysteria echoed throughout the world.

Spoiled middle-class women who either had jobs and partners with jobs, or at the very least their partners had jobs and they had secure homes; with shopping malls, carwashes, pounding hot watered showers, clean drinking water and an abundance of food and drink at their finger tips.

Ground Zero quickly became the symbol of a pampered, carefree yet vulnerable society, unaware of the perils which rocked the face of the planet, while they were rocking out in nightclubs, shopping ‘til they drop.  Often whipped up into an over-hyped knee-jerk frenzy over the latest kids to be toting a gun to school, because to bear arms is a right…

 

To see a broken homeless man probably in some doorway down in London, well, he would more than likely give you his last 10p piece if you were a woman on the street with nowhere to go.  With beer in hand, he might tell ya, if he’s from the old school, “You’re too pretty, too sweet to be here. Take this and get the hell out of here.”

Even if he had nothing to give, if you were lonely, showed an interest in just talking to him, he might offer you a fag and chew the fat for five minutes.

He sure as hell wouldn’t hide behind closed doors, open it ajar and say, “What can I do for you?” in a hurried, stressed-out, interrupted, slightly patronising manner.  You know, like the people next door, where there’s an unspoken agreement that this is my cage and that’s yours, you stay there and I’ll stay here.

No, this isn’t community, just a row of cages.  Like a row of hamster cages all lined up in a pet shop, on display.  Why?  Because people are afraid, don’t want to step out of their comfort zone.  They don’t want to be faced with anything different than the usual misery they know and that’s so familiar.  Unfamiliar, different, colourful, alternative is just too much for them to cope with.  Let’s just all be bland, middle-of the road.  Don’t turn this way or that, just toe that line.

 

On the other side of the planet, there is community.  There has to be.  For people who are poor or have the basics to live with, they must live as in harmony as possible.  They all rely on each other and everyone has a place, even the children.  When strangers make themselves known in a more than superficial/touristy way, these people, let’s just say, Sri Lankans, give hospitality, kindness and whatever meagre offerings they can muster up.  A smile and out-stretched hand can cross any language barrier in the world. 

They might be curious or conscious of skin which is paler than theirs, maybe they have never seen a Westerner, maybe they have always been too poor to travel.  Maybe they have worked the fields since they were young children, or need to keep the family fishery going, never having a chance for school or too much social life outside their community.  They are humble, though, possibly moulded by their government, who in the not so distant past was controlled by a colonial power. 

 

To keep analysing why, or how, could make an active mind crazy with frustration.  So, how ‘bout a simple question then—why why why, does it always have to be,

That the poorest and the most humble people of this great planet are forced to endure a natural disaster, like a wave to wipe out entire towns, villages and communities that might have been alive with the spirit that lacks in “our part of the world”!

Let’s just think, for one minute, how the same wave would have been received in Japan or on the West Coast of the United States? 

The affluence, resources and technology would quickly sustain any amount of hardship.  Of course there would be losses, there would be damages and probably fires.  Emergency crews, medics, probably even the National Guard, would all be on tap like a bottle of fizzy soda, to rescue those who needed rescuing or to be air-lifted to the nearest hospital.  The very latest technology and equipment would be at hand to help the endangered.

There would be no need to call for help worldwide.  A state of emergency/national disaster might be put into place, but the comfort of having a job, shopping mall, livelihood or loved one would more than likely still be there in the morning. 

 

Through the ages, India has faced the monsoon season with brave stiff-upper lip resistance, as if facing yet another war.  In the squalor of poverty, they have always had to “carry on” and clean up after the storms, never having time to wallow in the hysteria or reel from the velocity of the monster. Their desperate but cheery slums have had to still safeguard the old and shield their young from the rages of nature.  Through their closeness in community, they suffer together, starve together and pray together.  Through their collective struggle, they pull through, they win the war!

 

 

We as humans should remember:

That we started waging war on Mother Earth at least in the last century.  The industrial revolution was not concerned with the environmental impact of textile mills, factories etc.  It was progress progress progress, and, of course, extract from whatever Third World nation one could get its hands on. 

The war on Mother Earth intensified with nuclear installations and an electric avenue at every turn.  We turned our backs to the power of the sun and exploited precious metals.

So, is Mother Earth fighting back? If she is, perhaps it could be said that the lashing out is indiscriminate.  Are all the prophecies right in their ancient visions and predictions?  As the religious would have it, is this some sick test of will and whatever God they aspire to is sitting back and having a laugh?

Then again, are these human-made religions taking into account the “natural aspects” of their rationale?  Do any of the clerics or priests in their patriarchy, insight laws and rules to govern the way in which humans treat the planet we walk upon? 

No, they are too busy making up rules and laws to govern the behaviours and habits of other humans. 

It is mostly the indigenous tribes in any given society, pushed to the margins, pushed to the very outer limits.  For those who yield the most respect for the earth.  For those who tread lightly on the earth, cultivating instead of pillaging, planting instead of polluting, or harvesting sustainable living, are always against the tide of “the norm” the new and improved.  The bright shiny glass of a new building.  The bright lights of a sprawling city…

 

Get out of your cages.  Break out of those cocoons.  Take off your shirts and warm coats for the one who hasn’t got one.  Chances are you have one at home to spare!  If we have little to give, it still could be hope, all boxed up and ready to send.

 

 

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