The Fire Nears.
No one wants to see this happen.
Our hearts and our human made, world scale messes, once again on the collision course.
Needed mentioning, again…
Once again, here we are, hanging from the thread of uncertain future.
Think about it.
Dwell on it for a very serious moment and allow the moment’s potential outcome to sink in. If you sit back, cut loose your brain, another sip of tea or coffee. We’re all in this together like never before. Our ability to bring to an end human civilization is once again at a high threat level. We have never been so close.
Oh, of course we all wonder, secretly, just how many times we have stood on the brink. Given that governments, all of them, are run on all powerful, secret structures, like it or not…
Given that this story arose amidst unsure moments.
Nonfiction. This very common lament, no doubt due to the global delicateness, stirred from deep within, night’s end, dreams so clear.
Just two days ago.
‘You’re as beautiful
as the day you left me.
Your eyes were mine.
My eyes were yours.
The smitten American owner promised you a sure thing in his new restaurant. Too good to pass up. I was too slow. South Carolina somewhere.
I cried that day,
I cry still today. Men cry. It can happen when a woman, carefully and not without a measure of reasonable doubt, sometimes for many reasons, allows it to be known her heart belonged to you; has a change of heart.
Even after it’s been thirty years now gone by.
My heart sits next to yours as though they’d always beat as one.
Sure they do! Remember, we’re human. We can think in that way if we so choose.’
Remembering, in earlier years, as a preteen boy listening to Khrushchev and Kennedy bloody one another over the radio in Guatemala. We were so modern, ‘oh yeah, let’s try this!’ Cuba missile debacle.
Our potential for erasing civilization from the planet. With such massive nuclear power at our disposal, we leave the pundits and sizzling intellectual think tank people from those not very long ago scary moments determine for us sadly unenlightened. Just how close.
Surprising was just how easily I’d adjusted to the impossible image, the raging fires, the forever imprinted mushrooms, as though an old movie replaying… The potential always just a button push away.
Just how close did we come to setting ourselves back incalculable years had the nuclear exchanges taken place? Oh, and yes, we did come close that time. The war ships lining up around the island, it would’ve taken just one…
One angry exchange, one mistakenly punched button, ‘Oh God, I thought…’ In a slow motion whip of panic two mega-size subs zigged and bumped, although gently, it was enough, would’ve been…. Khrushchev’s’ bad vodka gorged heart beats one, just one, painful beat and in that split second he determines: screw this I’m going out with a bang…
I imagine young American and Russian sailors both as they gazed across the calm, thick, humid Caribbean flat, the tropical sun reflecting so bright. Forcing the militaries’ almost men to squint against the head jarring brilliance.
Impossibly, and under the same sun, not a stone’s throw away groups of young Cubans lovingly polishing shiny old ’57 Chevys, keeping sensual step with Cuban Salsa played along the coconut tree lined Malecon near the Havana Harbor.
Later, the feeling of the Titanic still lingers in the air…
Again, the nagging question that refuses to go away: in fact, were we designed slightly mad?
We are obliged again today to ponder what could be (what could’ve been). Little Ricardo’s’ bad grades and Mom’s drinking problem. Aunt Frida's’ cancer now literally eating her alive. Just things. Things of this life. When lined up alongside the specter of all-out nuclear war, how silly all that other, daily life stuff seems. Not ‘seems’, rather ‘is’.
Oh of course, each paragraph here could easily become books written…we haven’t the time.
Think of when you’re on your deathbed, how foolish it all will certainly appear. Oh sure, again, putting all of daily life’s seemingly insurmountable obstacles side by side, New York disappearing in multiple, arc-like sun flashes suddenly takes an impossible, rear view seat.
Talking desert sands here.
A marathon proportion of human manufactured inability, idiocy, being hinted at here.
We’ve succeeded over timeless time, masters of spoon fed misinformation, both givers and takers that we are. Like drugs. This human inclination to accept as fact that which is determined by those smartest of us just how close we really are to pushing the buttons.
Now, once again, today. Our odd ‘all in’ to want to believe, no, to ‘have to’ believe whatever snake oil is being funneled down our throats today and our inability to see, or worse, our scary unwillingness to question its flesh-eating reality.
‘Where is it written that you must go and I must stay?’ Your secret eyes spoke volumes to me. I shudder now at how open your heart was. That time you said “I could never stay angry with you…” Your words. Crush me. Today.
Broken days when you let it be known that some place in South Carolina was calling out to you. You never had to leave my blindness to your hand reaching out. To me…
The luxury of privileged choice, as though the options behind each were really mine to decide upon. Small, king-like.
You were far too good for me; you were far beyond me.
Perhaps the word ‘inability’ to help describe the moment falls woefully short of yet another free for all to total destruction. Were ‘inability’ to understand so simple? Oh, okay, so let’s ‘reset’ as politicians far more qualified than this writer have suggested.
Reset what? How do you reset, even before earliest memories, almost permanent and total calamity?
I see us humans, a beast, massive, mutated beyond recognition with all our masks, all our misplaced brilliance. Superior to and above all other living things about to swallow; repeat, about to swallow, scales and all, the latest threat to humans’ future existence. We seemingly are without willful choice in the matter.
Doesn’t it feel to you that we, as a species, have somewhere along the milestones of time and experience definitely fallen off the path? Aptly put by Ozzy: Going off the rails on a crazy train…
Smarter ones would gently suggest: my friend, we’ve gone off the rails a long, long time ago…
What may be even most surprising is just that! Our ongoing inability to accept the inevitable. Favorite words of our times, it seems: ‘accept the inevitable’. These three words so neatly and conveniently cloak over the entire global wreckage. Ours seems to be a fate already determined, carefully and fully detailed.
It’s as though every game, every competition under way between ourselves, is geared to seek out the loose link, the faulty track on the slippery mountainside. We keep trying to find the final solution. The one where the oceans’ rising waves really topple over us!
Whoosh! And, it’s all just, you know, washed away as so much dirty sheets.
‘Despite all the years and though my heart cries achingly, my eyes still tear up, why you left me is quite clear, would that it were a simpler story…
Much too complicated for that. I wonder, perhaps overly full of myself, if just maybe you too, occasionally, think this way.
This morning’s last dream, perhaps enriched by our planet’s closeness to the final precipice.
It became, once again, quite clear to me through your smoldering, dark eyes to understand the depths of your heart. Just how and why.
The wrenching strains. The violin of your song sweet voice: “I could never stay angry with you…”