A Gray Tuesday
A gray Tuesday, winter… Surely this must be the mid-west. Indeed, the Fox River Valley is west of Chicago. A typical winter’s pall has ascended, and homo sapiens are inclined toward hibernation. Never mind Chinese spy balloons, or an earthquake in Turkey, or a war grinding on between Russia and Ukraine, or commerce that surges, on cybernetic ways.
Is it morally permissible to take a nap in the afternoon, or read philosophy, or listen carefully to the jokes offered by a three year old grandchild? The world is burning. There are many fires. What ought I do with the one life that I have, given I am linked to the rest of humanity?
“Time” is a finite quantity, featured in my awareness, the natural course of my body — the life-force dissipates, less subject to recharging as youth recedes, the years accumulate. Most of my “self” becomes a matter of history, old stories already told, in the rear view mirror.
There is much that’s burning in every direction. Smell the smoke, odor of debris piles and settling dust, the acrid trace of gunpowder lingers… And not just the ruin of war, or earthquakes. The right to exist of transgender individuals is challenged by politicos and fundamentalist ideologues. In a globalized world, every fire seems as if at hand.
Ought I join a bucket brigade? Put my affairs in order? Could I travel to Europe to help expedite supplies to the front lines in the Donbas, Ukraine ? Others have. Pete Reed did and will not return. What am I obligated to do given our condition on the planet? A “right” response? — there are many. What do I care about most?
Consider this poem, a conclusive word on the matter. The Power of Love by Huey Lewis & The News.
Question: What’s going on in there? Response: It’s music!
