OUT OF SIGHT…

It causes grief, yes, if we let ourselves become ruthlessly aware of the cruelty afoot in the world this minute. The limited contents of our consciousness serve us well, as exemplified by an attachment in my e-mail by a person working on their MBA sitting in a cheerful cafe marveling at how good life on earth is…Pleasant, no big wars, etc….We just don’t stop to enjoy it.

I would probably go crazy if I were to personally witness one half of the cruelty  existing all over the world today, even in the USA.  I couldn’t stand to see a babe ripped screaming from his mother’s arms and…Then I realize how I protect myself from awareness that the meat I eat may be someone’s pet grown up or, worse, an animal that was never anyone’s pet.  I am not strong enough yet to quit paying others who raise, butcher and sell to the likes of me.  I was reading an article in an old issue of Utne magazine that observed that “We could feed one billion more people if we used land to grow food rather than feed.” Utne Mar-Apr 1992 (#59).  I hope black beans and brown rice don’t feel pain.

 

 

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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3 Responses to OUT OF SIGHT…

  1. Rivera says:

    Hard to push the “like” icon on this harsh reality of life.
    At this (my) stage, I sometimes console myself with the fact that I am at “this” stage.. and won’t be around too much longer to see how harsher life will become. Sad…..

    Like

    • Nan Mykel says:

      Thanks for reading anyway. I’m 84 now and am still curious about what’s going to happen. I hate to admit it and I even hate for it to be true, but I am sort of fascinated with he daily news. It’s a kind of fascination like with horror shows. I blame a lot of it on evolution, which some say is emergent. Curiosity keeps me alive, and I’m curious just about everything. Like how old YOU are. Smile.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Rivera says:

        “Curiosity.. fascination like in a horror show”.. a very apt description.
        I suppose we all (?) feel this way.
        I sometimes refer to today’s goings on as a Circus of Horrors.
        But… be that as it may….
        I am 73 .. and very much plan to live until I die..
        (I do hope this world 🌎 outlives me)
        Blessings…

        Like

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