Musings Around my Egg on a Sunday Morning
But no one is keeping score.
My article today is dedicated to the Chicken
About as far from its ancestors, the wolves, as it could be, the Lhasa Apso, seen from my kitchen window, barks at a passing kid on a bike. Just a little fluff ball, it would have trouble challenging a chipmunk in the wild, but it is faithful in its devotion to the pack.
On BBC, mighty U2 strobes and transfixes the crowds at Glastonbury: trite words, heavy beat, sexuality they all crave; girls bounce in frenzy, wellies sucking mud, the boys standing behind them, passing around a joint, semi-erect, flushed and cooled by the British drizzle.
My budgies gaze out of the window and sing for - what - the bewilderment of why they cannot, too, soar and climb in the azure skies of a British late summer? I often weep as I sense their frustration, in part, similar to my own, as civilization also denies me the freedom our species once had as birthright.
Writing on this HP site, a trite salve to an ego unsatisfied by great deeds, by words that will stand for ever, immortal, or just for the peace of a simple wood.
Life in pastoral England, as boring as the grave; as stultified as the womb. Life by numbers, controlled by a cynical establishment themselves running to a schedule planned in Elizabethan England. Everything, in the end, is theirs by droit seigneur, the right of blood, of barons and kings. They hoard the pirate treasure taken from other lands: jewels, works of art; land itself.
On the TV the Politics Show, as the favored by birth and education defend the status quo of the hands which ultimately feed them.
Breakfast is an egg, the young of the planet’s most persecuted creature, the chicken. Doomed from birth to slaughter to live in misery: unable to move, live, love and raise its brood. Do eyes somewhere watch and prepare to punish man for his treatment of weaker creatures? Does Heaven rage at birds in a cage, as the poet maintained? Does it all matter when all life is merely a dance of atoms garnered from the matter bank which will soon return to be called on time and time again to satisfy the demands of restless energy?
Are there any truths of life that we can cling to once we realize the universe is uncaring; all fortune is a lottery; that talk of deities is just mental masturbation; that no evidence standing even the most cursory scrutiny proves the existence of supernatural beings? And never will. There may be yet many surprises in the universe and its laws but they will all be founded on what quantum physics has explained.
Even if other life as we describe it exists, it will have the same basic building blocks as ourselves; there is no other material out there. The star is you; you will be the star. Along with others, Charged and Charmed Particles hold the key to your birth.
I find all the belief in god, or gods, to be actually obscene at best and, at worst, madness. Fools bearing arms in the name of some deity or other; the church leaders, full of ambition, greed, stupidity and pedophilia. The wide-eyed idiocy on the faces of the mob.
But what a wonderful world it is once we lift our eyes from the groveling of man: the oceans, mountains, deserts, forests, the panorama of stars, planets and galaxies., and all the wondrous creatures that share this tiny spaceship, Earth.
The scabrous colonies fashioned by Homo sapiens - itself an oxymoron - will not last very long once we have gone. The ugly cities with the misery, crime, poverty and inequality. The killer automobile and its attendant disgrace of the fossil-fuel bondage. The airplane, crop-dusting pollution all over the land. And the disgusting entitlement of man over man.
Well, time to boil my egg and watch F1 in Spain: somewhat hypocritically hand-picking a few joys from another Sunday…
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