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The Finger- a rationale

Updated on February 13, 2012
The finger in waiting.
The finger in waiting.

The Finger

By Tony DeLorger © 2011


I'm whipped into line; she stands over me with that finger out, straight and threatening. It is a stance I have come to accept, for even if I hadn’t, it would still be looming over me. It is not a judgement, a right or wrong, simply the execution of will, one over another.

I have been here long enough to know contesting the power of the finger is fruitless, and indeed dangerous, the escalation of which dire consequence could follow. All I know is that abandoning confrontation will disarm the finger, the stance and the impending menace behind it.

I live a quiet life; safe in the knowledge that no-one can take my mind. My bones can be broken, my flesh torn and my ego bruised, but in the end I will survive. The finger has me captive only momentarily, forsaking my ineptitude and dragging my fractious deeds into the realm of acceptance. There is no judgement here, just the rightful administration of balance, the finger in all its wisdom the arbiter of justice.

I never denounce the finger, for it has taught me to understand the action behind it, the unrelenting reminder of a man’s folly, his inherent incompetence. If not for woman, and the power of the finger, where would I be, unknowing of my limitations and my corruption? Man is corrupt, and lazy and an emotional desert, as I have been told many times. How then could I in any way contest the finger? In a way, and again as I have been told, it is omniscient, beyond reproach, and who am I to say otherwise?

I lead a quiet life, unperturbed and snug in the knowledge that I will be dead eventually and the finger will no longer have its hold on me, cast that colossus of a shadow that looms over my life.

I choose not to speak, for my words would be driven to ground, challenged and in the end defeated in the way of humiliation. For what do I know, beyond what I think and read? I have no real life; my years have simply been filled with padding, unexperienced days, one blending into another. I must be told reality, for in my disabled state I have learned nothing. Where would I be without that finger, and the hand that pushes my face into the poo, me having done it where I shouldn’t have? If only I were a cat and could justify it.

But I don’t have to justify anything, and face in poo is simply someone else’s problem. In the end I will prevail, the finger, although the antagonist in my life, is only that, a small thorn in my side. It comes from a hand that has lost control of life. Like a runaway freight train it leaps from one track to another, blame in all the wrong places. Just quietly I feel sorry for the finger, its penchant for blame and control limiting on a grand scale.

In a strange way, I have to thank the finger and all it stands for, because the lessons it has brought has given me perspective, and in that I take solace. It is sad though, the words of life experience can’t be shared and that words of banter and comfort have never taken flight.

Life is strange in that such negatives can become positives with a different perception, a different viewpoint. Even in a field of contention there can be love, and however small its limit, it is still love and worth the holding.

The finger will no doubt continue to rule its minor kingdom, unknowing of the limits of its power. But I shall uphold its omniscience for the sake of compliance and peace, knowing that I have and will continue to survive. Understanding the finger and what resides behind it helps me to accept its often harsh intent, but I cannot blame, love can overcome most anything, and I understand.


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