Who am I to Ridicule the Ostrich?

            When I examine the workings of a gadget I take a close look at its parts.  At times there are wires, levers, and gears.  Sometimes there are moving parts and sometimes parts that do nothing but hold or support the actions of others.  Whenever I examine myself - I take a closer look at you.  For example: I know that you will never drop the (point nine) from the price of gas.   I also know that you will never use fat people to advertise your gym membership.  All of the little things I see you do tell me something about myself.   On a much larger scale I see you diluting the information age into nothing more than fashion and gossip, while saturating society with advertising.  You are altering the face of our culture, adjusting the class structure and manipulating the chemistry of our food.  I cannot help but notice these changes as I myself must consider the fear-based ads, the health scares and become subjected to the technological intrusions.    

 

          Alice kept telling herself that she was in a dream; all she needed to do was to wake up and everything would be alright.  The scary part, however, is that the Jabberwocky is not only real, but is taxing us beyond all rational logic, while forcing us to register our Vorpal swords.   But I can see that my thoughts have perhaps melded with those of the Hatter, so I shall stop short of comparing a raven to a writing desk and return to the image of the overweight person advertising gym memberships.

 

          While I still thirst for the knowledge I missed while focusing on test scores, you have advanced without direction or regulation.  You have built things that this planet cannot rid itself of; you have diverted resources to support chaos and allowed government to ignore the very people it was designed to sustain.  This shows me that I am a complacent onlooker, and nothing more.  My reflection blends with the multitudes to the point that I become lost within the gears.   I am an inactive part of something I do not support.

 

          Perhaps Socrates was wrong when he suggested, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  Whenever I fail to scrutinize my life – my thoughts become an oasis - void of political corruptions, absent of toxic environments and a pleasant diversion from the insanity.   There is something to be said for the racehorse wearing blinders; his own heartbeat drowns out the masses, his breathing quickly blends into a rhythm, and his focus is not on the finish line but simply on the moment at hand.

 

         

          Each of us develops nurtures and carries around our own reality.  When individual realities collide with each other several things can happen.  If during the collision it is determined that they are compatible, they become friends.  Should they be as different as say… a raven and a writing desk, they let out an indignant snort and go their separate ways.   Then there are those rare occasions when someone’s reality is spread out across a sheet of paper for others to see.  Lewis Carroll, Edgar Poe, Truman Capote, and so on have filled page upon page with separate realities.  When I wish to examine myself against those - I experience a somewhat calming sensation.  I do not hear a snort, nor smell the lingering stench of burnt popcorn, but rather find myself reconsidering the unexamined life and whether Socrates and I would have been friends.

 

          As tomorrow is Christmas, I shall spend it considering baby Jesus as he was when going through the terrible two’s, or perhaps contemplate his possible antics as a rebellious teenager. 

 

No longer being concerned with test scores, I can do this.