Rhythms

The morning sun cut an orange sliver of light on the west wall of my bedroom this morning. A mid-summer greeting as it reached precisely the point on the horizon when its rays could make their way from the east window on the far side of the bathroom, through the hall and onto that wall. It did not shine there yesterday, it may not shine there tomorrow. Just this morning, this moment, this day. There are constants and there are variations, there is stability and regularity and there is flux and constant change. They say that a colored sun in the morning portends a storm, but in this case I think it is just the humidity, thick enough on the horizon to bend the white light into its second of seven visible colors. It will be hot today, oppressively. This means that I will move slowly, but it means that energy consumption and thus a contribution to the overall warming and heating of this great ball in space will rise as the pampered and disconnected feed themselves artificial cool. The birds, the rodents, insects and animals all bear the conditions in their various ways with their various strategies and continue to subsist. We would do well to learn a little from that.

But learn we do not. Is it possible that an entire culture can suffer from rampant narcissism? Possible? Actual. Even those who know better, and you know who you are, are too cowed with fear or denial of the real true consequences to opt for a better world. Your noses are brown and souls are shamed as you quietly comply, safely ensconced in your air-conditioned office, doing nothing of value, and collecting your check. Is it any wonder that violence and depression and obesity and misery are rampant in the United States? We are a culture lost, completely convinced of our own legitimacy. What is that nagging doubt you hear whispered in your mind during those rare quiet moments of honest reflection? You know.