Shaking
I read an essay written by a friend, a recollection of the 60s when our country was riven by division. The up and coming generation took to the streets to protest the sending of their generation to kill Vietnamese, on the pretext of halting communism. The rift in our society was political and ethical. Some felt it immoral to kill others on account of a difference in political ideology, or more truthfully, to secure markets for future economic growth. Others sincerely believed they loved their country by being loyal to the cause of the administration and congress in Washington. Any dissent was unpatriotic, disloyal.
Once again in a new century there is deep and growing discord among our people. The American flag, the flag with a blue field of stars and alternating stripes for the thirteen original colonies, red for valor, white for innocence, has become a symbol of racism, nationalism, and of irreverent bombastic spectacle. The writer of the essay brought to mind the aspiration of our founders for a society of equality of all people within its bounds and of fairness of purpose enshrined within its laws. It is plain this is not the country which we currently have.
Everyday when I catch snippets of the news my head spins, and inwardly I shake.
I commented to a friend yesterday that life is like a ride on a roller coaster. Sometimes you are quietly waiting, then moving in line toward your seat on the amusement machine. Over and over, the ride begins, you, holding as tightly as you can to the safety rail in front; then there is the pause at the very top, your heart stops, as the car drops with accelerating speed, suddenly you are jerked to the left by the sharp curve at the bottom. Sometimes you scream, and sometimes you just mutely hang on. That’s life. One wild ride. Exhilarated and relieved that the ride is over, you climb out, and get in line again.
I like these words a lot.
The world
in its totality
is not something
to be understood
and controlled,
but to be experienced
in all its violent,
beautiful complexity;
to be struggled and
reckoned with,
but never to be mastered.
Excerpt, Machine Learning in Practice
By James Bridle
This rock tune by The Outfield seems to capture the texture of life in these times.
