This past week presented a flurry of thought on several subjects of interest to me. It all started with a vivid dream that has been a reoccurring theme that I like to call: My Life in Boots. For many years my time in the military has come back in colorful and distinct images. I don't know why other than when I admit it to myself it was the best “job” I ever had. Those years gave me a sense of being an integral part of something bigger than myself. There were days when all I had to do was plug in a few wires, dial a few numbers and be connected to the world in voice. Today, however, I feel lost in the everyday doldrums of the world of work as a drone in the machine of production, production, production; that appears to be the only important thing to employers now. They hide behind concepts like efficiency, cost reduction and customer satisfaction. I don't know about most folks, but I think it is all some kind of doublespeak for legalized slavery. For me, it is about something much more than that, it is about the human brand.
Silently suffering, over the years, we come to understand as children that we are not as loved in the world as we are within the confines of our parent's care. We emerge from our mother's womb into bright light, loud noises and cold realities of room temperature, smacks on the buttocks and incubators to get our lungs to function and our skin to pink up. And as the clock begins to tick off precious moments of a predestined mortal existence, many of us begin to look beyond ourselves to unworldly mysteries such that faith and spirituality provide. Sunday services, weekday masses and morning prayer must suffice to give us a deeper meaning to the harshness of reality in order for us to function without question to the demands of human progress. In the mean time our own private hell unfolds as relationships develop, heat up in a passionate fire and fade into dissolution and discontent as our notions of preconceived perfection begin to nudge us with the blemishes of humanity. And finally, we end up as trinkets in a yard sale or on the floor of some bargain store at a discount price. This is what the human brand has become; a commodity to be bought and sold rather than cherished and cared for like the priceless treasure our creator intended.
In short; clinging to the bootlaces of my soldier past and disillusioned present, I find little hope for mankind in this subtitled “modern age.” Life has become a series of survival exercises like yoga poses where we try to go beyond the limits of our physical selves, where conformance lies at the bottom of a barrel of rotten apples passed down from the fall of Adam and Eve. But there is hope lying out there in
some non-genetically altered farm field where the human brand becomes the intended dream of our mythic god, whatever we choose to call him or her. And so I leave a taste of hope and a hint of smoke
as only a poet can do.
Forever isn't as long
as we had hoped it would be,
but it goes down as well
as a fine glass of wine;
Sometimes.
Let tongues of fire speak for me,
let smoke rise as my soul embraces heaven,
let warmth envelope my cold and restless heart
as it searches.
