There are people
who are complacent and conceited,
indolent and impatient,
and ambitious and distorted.

The complacent and conceited acquire the words of one master and in their private
self-satisfaction think that they know all that is necessary to know, when in reality
they have not yet begun to understand a single thing.
That is what makes them complacent and indolent.

The indolent and impatient are like lice on a pig.
They look for a place where the bristles are long and far apart,
Taking this as a large palace or a park.
The spaces between hoofs, teats, and thighs they take
to be safe and convenient places.

They do not know that one morning the butcher will swing his arms about,
spread the grass and light a fire
–and then they will be roasted together with the pig.
They rise and fall with their surroundings.

This is why they are called simple and impatient.

Zhuangzi trans. by Hyun Höchsmann and Yang Guorong, Book 24 Xu Wugui

What more is there to say? The parable is impetus to take measure of these times. Certainly no one has a say concerning the era into which they are born, or who fate assigned as their parents, their upbringing.

It was as if I simply showed up a “boomer” kid, in the early 50s, in the suburb of a small southern town. I grew up. Along the way I read a lot. My greatest satisfaction was days and hours spent in solitude roaming the woods that were abundant, close to my neighborhood. Then as a young adult, in my 20s some kindly older adults helped open college doors for me. I received a good education. I must mention getting married along the way. Marriage is hard, and life is hard, and so is being a parent. Laura and I are still married. We are good friends. Nothing but luck!

Another morning at Starbucks, to imagine myself overhearing one of the stories related in the Zhuangzi. Human nature is a layered and complex emanation from a profoundly insecure mammal. Effort has been made to describe human nature. Homer, Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, Camus, etc., etc..

At this juncture of the dissolution of Pax Americana, the centrifugal dissipation of our empire: Lice on a pig could not be more apt. 

Can you smell it?