WHERE IS MY REPLY?

To any of you who read my post, replied, and are not on wordpress, or otherwise are identified by “Akismet” as spam, I have not asked it to open your comments. I don’t wish to have spam fly into my face, sorry.

Benafia

IT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU __________ MOST LIKELY

You see it happens everyday; one day me and one day you. We will die.

We will, presuming we make it that far, realize how eternal youth actually vanished like our shadow at noon. The feeling will be noticed that one will soon be more akin to the dinosaurs than kids turning twelve. Some of us even today, never heard of blogs and cannot imagine using a computer, the learning curve seems as near as the edge of the moon.

The young these days may not realize that they to will be labelled a generation, indicating a certain lack of human continuity; now we are packaged and labelled. Yet each generation, as other ones fill in behind it, will yearn for its old boxes, looking longingly at the stamps no longer in use. Heads will shake at the young; how they seem to think the are the first to notice, first to understand, first to see through all the old crap.

Even these our young, before they know it, will be shaking their heads; was it not just yesterday I could jump up on that wall? What happened to all my friends? We thought we were forever? And loves? They were forever and now how little I remember who they really were? Did I ever know?

And if (Gods) science is stopped in its tracks; if the magical answers never come or if they do but turn into monsters we could never imagine, cities will gather dust. They will be recycled like parts of a great pyramid. Perhaps generations will stop and humankind will be back to basics.

If trees make it though, they will become the eternal forest, a place of mystery, imagination and dream. What animals make it trough; some will graze on the grass that grows enthusiastically on those old city streets. Cities will be scary jungles though, for at times it will be said; great pieces fall off the monoliths, sometimes they crash down all together. The big downtown’s will have been long ago pillaged, a twelve year old wondering, if it was gods or some evil race who built these towers to nowhere. Their language no longer understood or apparent.

Log-poles and stone now hold their arms over our heads at night. Elders speak of how foolish humans had been; that they had built and lived in those cities. Something called resources that came with the earth are too far to ever recover access to again. Now we live “in life” they tell the young. We live in each others hands. We honor the earth for it remains our Mother.

Some of this will happen to you; the tree leaf destiny of youth, the generational identity that proves itself a dried up wash, the young doubting it ever flowed strong and bold. Love will come and go from things you never thought would leave you. And your pride; pride in belongings and in self achievement, it too will become transparent, that sense of having leaving you.

The few who read this post will soon be gone in more ways than one. The Internet shut down due to its insidious joining of unwelcome ideas to the state and church. Something called “inalienable rights” will have been declared seditious. They are being so labelled already as the poison spreads.

“I have heard from a distant “Pile” (what cities are now called), that a stone tablet was found.” We listen attentively to this travellers tales. “We have a brilliant one in our tribe who has deciphered the tongue of it.” Now our ears are sharpened for the next sound. “It tells of a god who knew a way out but it was forsaken.” This seemed plausible to those of us gathered at the fire. “Dennis Kucinock was his name.” We had never heard of this idol. “He was a man like some of us, but he had seen the Mother Ship.” The what? You could see it written on our faces. “The Mother Ship, it was from the stars or somewhere. It shown onto him the light of Love from somewhere beyond yet into him.”

We did not know what to make of this travelers ideas. Did it mean something we should do? Are we to look into the sky for love? Love more than that of the sun? Must we do this at night? We did not now. I thought to myself; We can only take this with a grain of wheat. This left me with what the traveler had left us with; an existential angst. For it seems a certain truth; that if I too forsake the Kucinock, am I then also forsaking a certain way of Love itself?”

One elder spoke up after the traveller had left us. “We should not allow strange visitors to speak of spiritual things over the nights fire. For I had dreamed of the Kucinock. It’s ears were slightly pointed, it was a serious one, with a beautiful goddess by its side. It made no sense to me. The Kucinock carried small tablets in his outer skins, talisman to the thoughts of his time. I kept waking up with the thought; But this is now!, This is now! The Kucinock is gone forever! Little sleep would fill me up overnight.”

But I have noticed a change; we follow the embers up into the black air at night. We are sometimes quiet and reserved at this, as if expecting a sacred sign. We do not speak of this to one another, but I do at times notice a flicker across my face and a times those around me. There is a smile that reminds me of something precious just found, that had been lost.”