Some people are an embarrassment to their species.
Some people are an embarrassment to their species.
If suffering was optional very few would choose it.
People are rarely what they first appear to be.
It’s been very hot here this past week, occasionally making it into the high 40s Celsius (100+F) and the room with my computer has no air conditioning so I have no post written for today. Never fear . . this Blast From My Past was written in July 2013.
Do you ever sit in a quiet room and listen, I mean truly listen? Close your eyes and pay attention. I can hear the wind off my balcony gently blowing through the trees. I can hear my refrigerator humming its ubiquitous sound of cold. I can hear the highway and a steady drone of cars whizzing by. A bird, a gull I think, probably searching for lunch, loudly. There’s a banging, somebody doing construction. Oh yes and a car horn screeching its presence. Oops, a car alarm screams in protest, at what I do not know. A truck backs up, punctuating the world with his irritating beep, beep, beep, beep…
You see I believe true silence is illusory. Even when a room is deathly quiet, it is not silent. Spend some time in a library. It is one of the noisiest places that advocates silence. Listen carefully. The librarian is admonishing someone for something. Someone else is on the phone directing someone to the appropriate department. With the advent of computers there is a constant clicking of the keyboards. I can hear pages turning, sometimes in anger. There is the irritated sigh as someone looks for a book but cannot find it. Pages rustle and footsteps clack on the uncarpeted floor. There is no silence here.
Once upon a time our world was much quieter. We didn’t have cars and computers and the ever present hum of electricity. Our nights were darker, we didn’t have the light pollution of all the towns around us. I believe as a people we were calmer. Now we want more and more. No matter what we have, we crave new and better. What is that? What is it the psychobabble of the day is saying: relax, chill, be cool. Well it’s true! We live noisy and harried lives. We rarely seem to take the time to stop and smell the roses. Even when we relax it’s doing something energetic and noisy. Ah yes, the sounds of silence: the ever present white noise that surrounds our lives. I just heard that they actually sell machines that emit white noise because it is often difficult for some people to sleep when things are too quiet.
I wonder if we would know what to do if all sound stopped. I wonder if people who are completely deaf actually experienced true silence? All I know is that my world is noisy and sometimes irritating and I love it all!
Stupid is not a word I would use to describe most people, but there are exceptions . . .
It’s never too late to shut up.
There are people who gamble everything on their looks or personality. There are people who are not very good gamblers.
Fresh air, open skies, freedom. One can lift up their head and howl at the moon and no one will care. Yes, this was the way to travel. Breathe deeply the pristine air. Well pristine if you disregard the diesel fumes, acid rain and manure mist. At least out here you can’t see the air in front of you. In the city not only can you see what you are breathing, it leaves a film on your nostril hairs. Breathe deeply in the city and you’re liable to cough up a lung. Out here in the wide-open spaces there’s a tang in the air. Of course, that tang is 10,000 years of rotting plants and animal excrement. Yum!
When you walk down the open sidewalks of a busy city you can hear the sounds of laughter from small children. You can smell the tantalizing aromas from diverse cultures; fresh bread, sizzling sausages, and a myriad of spices. It is the smell of success and of life. People live here and people work here. It is the smell of comfort and love, of laughter and tears. It is the city. But the city has another side.
The laughter of small children often comes from bodies full of nothing but hunger and loss. The tantalizing smells simply reinforce the feelings of desperation from those that need but do not have the monetary means to fulfill that need. There are those who have and will not share. The city was built on the backs of the poor for the comfort of the rich and they do not wish to share today. Perhaps tomorrow will be a day to share, perhaps. There is success here for a privileged few and there is life here for those who work hard enough to support the fragile infrastructure. There is also death here for those who aren’t smart enough, or strong enough, or rich enough to succeed. Life rewards those who have and disposes of those who have not.
Away from the city the sounds you hear are the birds flitting from tree to tree, cross pollinating and snacking on the nectar of the flower. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, gently showering you with bugs and their teeny tiny excrement. The rustling of the leaves distracts you from the rustling at your feet which may just turn out to be an annoyed rattlesnake out for lunch. It never pays to get between a snake and his version of a tasty snack. Yes there is life here, lots of it and chances are it is not all that impressed by your big feet and your insatiable appetite for nature. You are in their home and you are most likely unwelcome.
Finding a spot where one can commune with nature, far from the lights and noise of a modern city is a challenge. Just finding a spot that is not already spoken for by realtors is one thing. One must have a permit to stop, raise a tent or build a fire pit. Heaven help anyone who builds an open fire without first obtaining a permit filled out in triplicate and filed with God.
The first night spent beneath the stars is magical. The wildlife that abounds in the forest is vast. From predatory birds to carnivorous canines and the most pervasive of pests: the mosquito and friends. Sounds are amplified and smells are close. The babbling of a brook can sound like a rushing river, but soothing. The stars are bright, almost surreal. There is life all around you, just out of sight.
The first night spent beneath the stars in the city is also magical, a different kind of magic. The light from the stars is obscured by the neon lights of the city night life. The life too is abundant and varied, from pest to predator. People are dressed in their version of finery, and often act accordingly. Beautiful swans can be seen walking gracefully outside fashionable restaurants with appropriately obsequious entourages.
Then there are the weasels who will try to sell you watches that don’t tell time or bad toothed ferrets hawking the latest in pirated DVDs. And of course there are always the ever present motor vehicles. There are the little ones that scoot too close to the sidewalks and splash you with questionable liquids or the mammoth conveyors of multiple personalities that meander ponderously. There are also the pimpmobiles and muscles cars that spew forth noxious fumes just for the fun of it.
Go down a darkened alley and you just might find a seller of a different kind of magic. It is the kind of magic that can be sniffed up your nose or injected into a vein. It is a magic that is ultimately costly and deadly, figuratively and literally.
Hidden close by is a malnourished, frightened child who has tried to escape from an abusive home and a cynical street walker who just wants to finish this night without getting her throat slit and take a long, hot bath to help to forget. Forgetting is necessary for some to stay alive in this unforgiving world. Also out this dark night is a tired nightshift worker who wants to go home and get some sleep so he can start this endless cycle all over again.
Even more strange are the tourists who flock to see the nightlife that abounds in the city in the hopes of seeing something dangerous and exotic. Pictures would be even better to take home to show the lads at the local ‘Weed and Feed’. Uncle Fester will be plumed amazed!
And the city is alive with sounds. There is the hum of the traffic and the unexpected screech of a car horn, the loud reverberations of the boom box that is supposed to be the latest in fashionable music. It is personal thing. People are shouting and occasionally laughing or screaming. The life around you is as noisy as it is bright and don’t you dare stop for too long or you might just be relieved of that loaded wallet you carry in your left rear pocket or run down by a slightly inebriated youth.
Ah yes, the city is alive and it is in your face. Don’t wander down here unless you plan to play by their rules.
The woods are alive too but they are a little more reserved about it. The inhabitants are watching you, trying to decide if you are edible or just annoying. Communing with nature can be tricky since they would really rather you did your communing elsewhere. Unless of course you do turn out to taste good with a side of shoe leather.
Choices, choices, choices. Does one cavort within the perilous precincts of the city or meander through the beautiful byways of nature’s potentially hazardous haunts? It is a difficult decision to make. Where to go, what to do?
Ah yes, the open road . . .
As a people it is our differences that make us strong.
Some people talk as if they actually understand what they’re saying. Of course we know better.
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