Light At This End of the Tunnel
Prosperity and Plenty are Here and Now
The left and right forepaws of a primordial Beast conspired to control the direction of human progress long before the dawn of the last ‘Enlightenment’. The same tenacious will has manipulated the puppet strings of emperors, kings, popes, czars, presidents, rajahs, commissars, chief rabbis and head mullahs for millennia.
The serious frowns and toothy smiles on the faces of the clonal glove puppets are familiar to us all. Their egocentric marionette lips mouth serious lies to us every day, from the ubiquitous filtering screens that masquerade as windows on our world.
Half the human tribe believes the half-truth hand signals of the right-hand puppet while the other half barracks for the left – the perpetual dichotomy of a pointless Punch and Judy show that distracts and detracts from the real Royal Game, played by puppetmasters behind a veiling curtain.
Everyone goes about their daily lives under the same cloud of confusion, spanning all the world’s skyscraping horizons in a dark thrall of mundane habituation. Children are packed into roles and set loose in the world carrying a meagre toolbox of trinkets, without ever knowing who or what they really are - without even being taught where most of their bodily organs are, or knowing what they do.
The more fortunate citizens of quasi-democratic societies are convinced they’re free because they get to vote for Punch or Judy on one loud bright day in each handful of years before returning to the daily grind. Most are happy to keep their heads down and keep their workaday lives trundling along a series of treadmills, caught in the self-tied binds of family responsibilities and social expectations. Meanwhile, the time of their lives runs away through the endlessly swept, washed, vacuumed, blow-dried, polished sterile hourglasses of utterly materialistic lives.
Women and men proceed from cradle to grave and back again with eyes wide shut; most eventually forget they’re alive at all and mistake momentary whistle-stop work breaks for long holy days of peaceable contemplation and licit chances to vent a little steam. Somnambulant domesticated primates focus through half-mast eyelids on a vanishing point of prosperity and peace, a tenuous mirage that continually recedes from tunneling visions. Self-mutilating naked apes tear down the forests that birthed them and burrow more deeply into the fabric of the world to escape the harsh glare.
People get on with the ‘job’ of life and forget why they chose to be born here and now, in the best of all possible worlds. By the time most human hominids make it through the gauntlet of terror that channels their free-spirited hearts and minds into the blunt slotted cogs of adulterated adulthood, they’ve already given up seeking ultimate truth or meaning and pay lip service to fabulous regional lies of control freak religions and the idiosyncratic ideologies of hopelessly outdated forebears.
Many toiling wage slaves become convinced they follow the orders of a superior caste of apes, following the dictates of an unseen Divine Plan that extends far beyond their humble purview. By their thirties they’ve sold their immortal heritage for transient handfuls of inedible monetary pottage and are carefully brainwashing their own bright free children to follow in their well-won footsteps, on a pointless, endless rat run to nowhere.
There’s no time for true contemplation - or meaning - in lives that are fully engaged in meaningless work and other trivialities for most waking hours. How much freedom can there be when humans act like robots, leaping from their beds and back again like rigidly programmed jack-in-the-boxes, springing in time with artificial mechanical tides and staggering onto the bright beach of alleged wakefulness to the tunes of alarming clocks? Industrial chaos despoils the world with every flick of a switch and flush of a toilet as purblind monkeys saw away at the branch of the Tree of Life that sustains them, before racing out to its eroded nether branchlets for a quick bite to eat and a nap.
This workaholic tableau has been in place for so long that it appears to be a ‘normal’ way of life, but the madness has actually only existed for an eye-blink century or two in the enduring existence of all humankind. The few who question the dictates, follies and outrageous lies of the (post) modern world are deemed freaks, weirdoes, hippies, rebels, ferals, anarchists, ignoramuses, infidels or Luddites (labels which this author often wears and bears, along with the badge of honour of being regarded a foolish clown while he replants seeds, vines, shrubs, vegetables and trees around the pristine waters of a beautiful subtropical paradise, repairing the ravages of yesterday’s ‘progress’).
The Ultimate Question
Yet the same question inevitably arises in everyone’s life, at a sudden turning point or an unexpected fork in the road. One day every child or adult ponders the primal question as hearts and minds spontaneously spring open in an impassioned moment of insight and understanding - ‘what am I here for?’; and a horde of shysters and self-deceivers always lurks ready to reply, clutching a multitude of costly services in their manikin hands.
A truly satisfying and accurate answer to the ultimate question can only arise from within – from the cyclonic still centre at the core of one’s being, within and beyond the concealing illusory veils of belief, faith, education, ideology and culture - beyond the reach of puppet or master in the inviolate sanctuary of each immortal soul.
There’s no time but the present – no future to look forward to, no past to remain immersed within. There’s only an infinite now. Putting off the time of your life until you’re too old to enjoy it makes little sense to wise elders of tribes who dwell within the ebb and flow of lunar cycles and the endless revolutions of the seasons. A tree can take a thousand years or more to grow to maturity – but only if the seed is planted today.
There are many solutions to the apparently intractable dilemmas facing the human tribe, but truly illuminating answers require appropriate questions. To sow and reap an organic crop and work with living things is a very different path to working the factored illusions and imaginary growths of dark satanic mills, or their carefully falsified ledgers. Working with life is an art that can take many incarnations to master. The fault in today’s social systems and rustbucket technologies lies not in the puppets, but in their master – and the master is you.
You are a divine immortal with mortal amnesia, possessed of the power to make, break or remake the universe. The whole wide world you experience is a result of unmastered desires and unexamined willfulness that you have unknowingly created beyond the narrow torchlight of your daily consciousness.
Ask not ‘for whom?’ we work, or even live - we do everything for and to ourselves, creating personal realities from the tattered old cloth of yesterday’s futurism. Our dreams are influenced by all the dreamers and decisions that have preceded this moment in time, and truly new and ®evolutionary ways of seeing, thinking and living are required if we’re to make the collective leap to a survivable future.
To imagine that you live your life ‘for the children’ is no answer at all; it merely puts off the real question for another generation to ponder. Besides – you are your great-grandchildren. Ask not ‘how?’ we are to survive and thrive, unless you’ve first examined a more fundamental question. We plant the seeds of our destiny every day; the Tree of Life’s most fruitful new seeds lurk inside the kernel of the question ‘why?’
There are many solutions to the intricate problems besetting these glorious yet seemingly doomed new millennial civilizations, yet none are of use unless we first stop and ask, ‘Why?’ Why are you here? Why are you alive? Why are you doing what you do? There’s little point in attempting to change course and avoid the apparently foregone apocalyptic conclusion of all our hell-bent actions if we don’t first stop and take a look around. We don’t just need to pause to smell roses and coffee, but must come to a full emergency stop and end to this one-pointed period of oblivious servitude to a carcinogenic fantasy of eternal illusory growth.
Hopeful dreams of utopian equity have been portrayed by many creative geniuses and leading lights of bygone ages, and simple, equitable solutions have already been exhaustively detailed for every problem we face in the new millennium. These idealistic plans have all been promptly suppressed, or twisted into the daily living nightmares of industrialists and warmongers. Technologies that promised to erase senseless and desensitising toil were employed instead to round up people who lived free lives amidst the wide green world and enslave them and their children in toxic workplaces and newly created suburban cell blocks. Today’s false dichotomy of bosses and workers was born in the blinding crucible of a planetary slag heap, as unions and boardrooms conspired to squeeze as much from the body of Mother Nature as they could, as quickly and carelessly as possible.
Bold new ideas, theories and functioning technologies wait in the wings, ready to lift us from the pit we’ve dug for ourselves. Yet unless we all change the courses of our individual dreams and activity-riddled lives, any solutions we employ will fail. Careless and desperate attempts to dig ourselves out of this global quagmire will only serve to propel us more deeply into the wasteful crap of new unexamined byproducts, which will automatically arise from humankind’s carefully entrained cyclic greed. Helping to keep the dreadnought ships of warrior states on an even keel will only ensure their weaponry kills the planet a little quickly and more efficiently.
We may long for the oversight of a wise new ship’s master, but all regimental minds bent on command are fractured by the same internal flaws and self-blinding inconsistencies. Though they imagine it is they who pull the strings, all leaders become trapped in the webbing of their follower’s concentrated expectations and become puppets in thrall of myriad spinning fates.
The wills of these ‘bosses’ are represented by so-called ‘conservative’ parties, whose sectional interests are always best served by maintaining the status quo – and by keeping Spaceship Earth on current course toward an iceberg of extinction. They prefer to ignore the juggernaut’s undeniably monumental presence while they concentrate on counting tomorrow’s ill-gotten gains; that’s the only ‘life’ they know.
The workers are served by more ‘progressive’ politicians whose primary interest is to ensure that the planetary despoils are divided up a little more evenly before we hit the ice. Left wing labourers are scarcely interested in arresting the blind march of growth - and cutting back their own pay packets or consumerist lifestyles.
Only youngsters, students and the still fledgling Green movements around the world represent the true interests of humankind as a whole – by standing up for the Mother of us all, and placing planetary needs above the greedy anthropocentric whims of bosses or workers. And yet voting just isn’t enough. We cannot persist in the belief that making our mark once every three or five years can make a real difference to the self-ordained doom we sense descending on us all. What are you going to do about it? Only direct action can really help. Only by thinking globally but actually ACTING locally can really help us change course at this late date – and before we can act with truth, peace and honour we must know the answer to the question ‘why?’
All the rivalrous short-sighted factions born within the industrious human hive of the insectile industrial era have had their day. They know all the novel answers to ‘how’, ‘where’, ‘when’ and ‘who’, but have no real solution to the fundamental dilemma of ‘WHY’? The dawn of a new Enlightenment is beginning to glow behind the wiser eyes of a new generation, who can easily see that the clay-footed heroes of their co-opted parents are wearing no clothes.
The young and young at heart can see through the screens. They smile or giggle at tribal fables of gods and devils, and recognise the deities and demiurges of superannuated ideologies struggling for futile supremacy behind the tired eyes of their robotized elders. Many are beginning to ask the single correct question. How about you? It’s never too early or late to open your eyes – all three of them. There are a number of versions of the only true question; they have many, many true answers, and none of them involve any god or goddess but you.
Why are you here? Why are you alive?
P.S.: While you’re answering that question, why not plant a tree today?
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