Another morning.  Its Wednesday and at least I am not in traffic on I-294 in the stampede to Chicago.  Around 6AM yesterday before dawn I accelerated up the ramp into the stream of traffic with a massive chrome truck bumper in my rear view mirror.  In the darkness the surreal stream of headlights, with the weaving blood-red of taillights created the machine environment that enveloped me.  I accelerated to 80 mph to keep up with the stream of vehicles.  80 mph in the dark.  “There’s no turning back, no slow-lane so drive!” said my mind to my better judgment.  I am a ball in a gyrating pin ball machine.  The other vehicles around me, some passing at even higher speed were like flashing flippers, or bumper activated lights, exploding color.  I survived.  My mind took a beating.

I assume the majority of drivers around me, were younger, with better reflexes?  The same environment,–just one more day of commuting to the office.  No problem.  Not I.  This high speed mechanical stampede feels like a scene from Blade Runner.  I am at the mercy of a machine-like order, and there is no “outside,”  nowhere to go, but pedal-to-the- metal until the off-ramp approaches.  Mind and senses probed by light, the body sensing the proximity of road surface, and other machines in the undulating mad flow.

After the surreal commute, my day was punctuated by several exchanges of empathy, of shared humanity with others.  Nature returned; escape from the tyranny of the machine.

The day was split into halves.  The last half was more beatific.  October the 31st is Halloween.  The possibility of, the proximity, the tactile presence of evil, of disaster is relativized by the parody of the Halloween celebration.  A single day or better, a single evening of running the sidewalks “trick or treating” is enough to relieve the tension, the stress of our vulnerability.  Its a holiday for children.  More and more adults are involved though, whole families, each a costumed character, in the parade, collecting treats for their bags from householders who greet them at the door.  What a party!

There is a metaphysical dimension to evil that cannot be eliminated by a rigorous empiricism.  Science and it’s off-spring technology, in fact worsen the prospect of evil.  There are so many more unpleasant ways to meet one’s demise.  Raw power is projected in novel ways.  Call it what you will, call it “progress.”  There is no escape and no cure.

It is well that we laugh; that we give and receive sweet treats from one another; that we find mirth in our absurd plight.  The child in us always laughs, finding delight in the ridiculous wonder of the twilight.

This tune will help.  Go ahead and dance if you feel like it.

“America is raising a generation of dancers.”—Hunter S. Thompson