Inflaming

The Earth gave up her dead that tide,

Into our camp he came,

And said his say, and went his way,

And left our hearts aflame… Ballad by Kipling

When the fire burns, within and without just to consume one’s self, monk or me.

Rage. A contentious man, trying to bend the arc of history.

Just to see it bend itself right back. To where it used to be. To the crooked way it has always been since time eternal. Seeking Comfort in the Path of least resistance.

An Afghan selling away one of his kids, a monk died peacefully “no mud no lotus” (as opposed to his contemporaries who burned themselves for a cause).

So, what’s left of a life? a few cents of ash? a clever and catchy saying? Me Decade. Me Dead.

The “Me” generation is shrinking via attrition (most of war protesters are now in their 70’s).

Hell No we won’t go (away).

The cause, the contention and the consequences (of ill-fated decision and will imposed on world’s map).

Nuke’m.

Oh God, what have I done! (Oppenheimer marveled at destructive force of “science” unleashed – he had helped create).

Nuclear fission. Nuclear families. And now, just me and the dog named Boo.

We have lived, perhaps not as well-lived as once thought.

We quarrel over unnecessary things (emphasis on “things”). The bigger the (Costco) cart, the more argument happen outside, in the parking lot, and inside the house (bigger closet?).

We have, in a span of 5 decades, replaced ideas with materials, relationships with possession and communication with connectivity.

That’s the way it is.

No way around. Just keep it afloat, proooooooolong the status quo. Let’s set sail! Let’s cross the seven seas. Anchorless-ly to para-phase Augustine (since our soul is anchored in the heavenly anyway, in a safety deposit box).

Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow. And when that tomorrow turns today, we keep gofund me for the next tomorrow (the mirage effect – leading right to Las Vegas : “what happened here, stays here”. A Floridian man, 5 years in jail, felt totally broken.

I am a contentious man. I see through adult’s hypocrisy. Now, in turn, I am that adult. Full of what I have been against. In moments of self-examination and honest self-assessment, I can barely look in the mirror to give myself a C-.

To see my unwanted self. How I have turned out. The company I keep.

Society is comprised of individuals. If all were like me, then…we’re without hope.

So keep selling away your kids. Keep not raising your kids. And keep fighting for others NOT to abort theirs (15% say “under no circumstances”),

Somehow, on this day, it’s a beautiful day to die. At least for a monk, whose feet walked across the grass, and wheel chair across the lawn. No mud, no lotus. Still, what’s the point of contention? how can we live on and not see all the injustices and incongruencies? how many more MLK holidays to commiserate, without feeling like a hypocrite. Hail to MLK, Hail to the King, to Mary, to Jesus, to the Queen and Prince…(whose title and privileges recently got stripped away) and all the syncretic gods past and present. All mud still no lotus.

So back to our self-inflaming. Our selfies and our self-contained lives. Fast-forward and skip the unpleasant parts (like those damn facebook posts – you go, you snap, you pay, you print- algorithm-chosen after Norman Rockwell’s and Reaganesque).

Seek peace without justice, harmony without hope. It’s possible given our cureless amnesia. As if, we could live in a world of one, one contentious man playing Solitaire.

Icarus! keep flying high-speed non-interference with 5G toward the Sun. As high and hyperbolic, to reach the melting point of no return, of tension and contention before succumbing to the immutable law of gravity and oh well…mud.

Born to burn… hearts aflame.