Spinning of records

And it’s a Tuesday again.

Melancholy tends to set in while the gardeners outside rage with lawnmowers and leaf blowers, dark places are visited. The usual silence is broken for several hours, disruptions that are punctuated with dust clouds. Even the sunny blue skies that define today are no help, though it is an added pleasantry.

I wouldn’t call it depression, just awareness. There’s a certain joy in reading the news, discovering small details about people, places and events. An hours worth of news in the morning, along with coffee and a sunrise tends to set the stage for a productive and enriched day. But of late, it has seemed that dark undertones have crept into the mix, a splintering of unity so to speak.

We are all from the same stock, genetically speaking. Sure we have different attributes, skin color, sizes, but ultimately we are a variation on the same set of code. The splintering that I alluded to, is the stark fracturing of that recognition. The progressive nature that I think we all hoped for, whether that be within medicine, education, economic opportunities, and equality, have apparently come to a stand still. If anything we seem to be sliding backwards towards a feudalistic regimen, with oppression and paranoia leading the charge.

Why?

Maybe it is that in the face of strident and continuous change brought on by science, we as a species are caught looking backwards for the warm fuzzy memories of yesteryear. Or perhaps it is something more primal, something locked in the code, that is hard wired into many, to plant their feet in the soil and pout with fretful brows of petulant children. Change is as natural as time, yet there is a desire to not change by this segment. The fantasy of how it once was and should be again (granted it never was, nor ever will be), is pitted in mortal combat with the reality that only the present and future exist now.

But who knows. There is work to be done, a book to be finished, another to be begun. Yet with a leery eye I know that I will be watching for smoke on the horizon, smelling the air for the scent of madness (the madness that tends to crop up in society at various times leading to all manner of ills like world wars and genocides), and hoping that just maybe we can stop it from happening again.

wbh

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About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
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