Paragraphs of Daily Thoughts and much Mental Therapy. Photos. Sometimes Videos. Published Weekly or so.
“Smart phones, smart cars, smart televisions… When are they going to start making smart people?”
~ Tania Bianco ~
Morning is the best here. It is the best time on the road. It decides the upcoming day with the past decisions thrown on the wayside as they really do not matter much, if any. It is the time when the mind starts taking inventory of the present. Figure out which step I am standing on while absorbing an absolute silence barely broken up by Mother Nature. There is nothing due, there none owed, it is as naively I think "society" should have been from day one. I am aware it is not. Somewhere, now, all over the globe others not realizing this is not a rehearsal are buzzing around putting on the last touch on a breakfast, locking up their four walls with an alarm to shield us from others, the cars are being unlocked, the wheels start rolling towards the many destinations where most everyone will again lock themselves in and more or less produce "work" to enable them to repeat this cycle, an institution programmed by society with a resemblance of survival.
Necessity will drive many, greed will hold it’s carrot dangling for others, the mail will bring on the cause of this human turmoil in numbers seemingly never right to anyone’s eyes shockingly "wanting" a phone bill today, the luxury of an array of 800 channels watched with stupor on a wide screen television itself not yet paid for. It will demand a third mortgage as the Chrome Hummer drops off the Children in School in an impressive fashion along with the footsteps adorned with $200 Nikes. And the circle paved with the mines humanly created will rejoin it’s beginning only to start over when the next fad hits the opening page of everyone’s Yahoo too present and updated by the second.
The hands will tap impatiently the steering wheels, the horns even will sound as extensions of inner cries, some middle fingers will protrude through dark smoked windows, yet, worse of all, over the latest "thump… thump…" music, the mind will sink in into the darkness of a choleric state loosing control of it’s own emotions only wishing to have instead the present ability for some punches which in thoughts think could solve, wrongly so, the waves of the present moments.
And yet, now, I have escaped that stage as silence still prevails and more often than none I am aware of the good fortune my path rides on thinking more, wishing more, it would be everyone’s for the sake of their well being. Does everyone wants this however or has it that Life’s programming has gone too far and an enjoyment of the horn, the inhaling of the carbon monoxide, the insults generously distributed, the cubicle aspect to keep everyone grounded, all is now for most a welcome passageway towards a brighter carrot, "two weeks vacation a year" when then on as misplaced the rules of engagement still seems to apply. Unfortunately.
While going here and there lately using the main avenues to reach the less traveled ones, I could not help curbing down this phrase popping up with an unknown origin, just there, a bit crude, itself I realize a bit insulting, yet hard to hide in a subconscious mind bombarded from specially the weekend warriors trying to escape the Urban warfare engrained I am now convinced within them: "you cannot fix stupid".
The backdrops here are of the most humanly possible beautiful. The spaces are of serene textures as one could think the mind could only sink in and find a certain absolution enouncing a signature that would remain for times to come. It is not, unfortunately, with far too many I encounter as much as willingly try to avoid. It is the tailgaters way too close for comfort as I can see in my own rear view mirror their eyes so clearly like pin balls going back and forth from their speedometer to us while the fingers impatiently taping the steering wheel and the glow again of their eyes as little balls of fire. I cannot hear what they are saying but I can only imagine. Finally the straightaway. Double yellow or not, changing gear within a cloud of good fumes created they pass. They are then stopped a few miles ahead, vehicle mostly on the road, window down, sometimes the door ajar, taking a photo. And the game starts over, and over.
It is the same driver again stopped at a turn off, vehicle hanging out. No message from their lights. What choice will they pick? Door #1 or #2? Could it be #3 or even #4 in the form of a U Turn? I have to slow down, I have to stop, yes, it is a left turn. Why use a turn signal? They are on vacation. They have been extracted from their mapped out Urban warfare strategies. Such rules do not apply here. It is for us to prevent being impaled and loosing at their game.
It is the hardcore giant and noisy often diesel truck parked next to us with the engine running and it’s exhaust perfectly aimed at Spirit while I am in the store or as a few days ago at the Dr’s office. I look at the driver square in the eyes and they are blank and empty of even a suspicion of understanding. Like a broken radar his vision goes back and forth swaying between me and the sidecar where Spirit is sitting. I have to ask. Kindly, gently, nicely, to turn of his engine because I know in his left over mind that is not the manly, the macho step to take. The words "killing my dog" finally registers and I know that turning that key was probably the hardest and most difficult task of his week.
There is more, but I will refrain. The cap is off, the bottle is almost empty. I feel good. I have finally said it "it is hard to fix stupid". I am smiling now because it is funny, yet, not in a "ha… ha…" way.
I must add, rightly so, there are also in more numbers some incredibly "nice" people out there filled with awareness and a comprehension which parallels mine in more ways than one. That is a good thing. A very good thing. We shall keep the hope and faith of Life going.
Ara and Spirit