 15 Sep 2005 @ 04:57, by Uncle Remus
Too early for the rainbow, too early for the dove
These are the final days, this is the darkness, this is the flood
And there is no man or woman who can't be touched
Leonard Cohen, The Gypsy's Wife
The Passover
In a fractal structure of failure,
I face a blank wall in my own life,
as I hear about failures and blank walls
in my country and my world.
"We who have courage and faith
will never perish in misery" -
said Ann Frank, and she perished.
"If I make a thousand paper cranes,
I shall live," said Sadako,
and she died after the 700th.
"Truth will prevail" said the motto
of Czechoslovakia as it was ground
under the boot of two tyrants.
All our brave words are but chaff
in the wind, a temporary comfort
to pass the time until we too succumb.
There is no dearth of dangers.
And yet - "The Storm is Passing Over"
said the Lord; "the Angel of Death
will brush you with his wings
and pass over, as in days of yore."
It still dins in my ears, this unexpected answer
to a childlike question, far more
than I had asked for: a promise of Grace
which I don't yet understand.
A story of sudden disaster reversal,
as my spiritual friends have told me about.
All I know is Boulding's Law:
what has happened is possible.
And the beat goes on, like the drum beat
in Carmen, "the heart of all the world."
From Morella and Opabinia
to myriads of diverse creatures,
disparate in body plan and life style,
a Cambrian creation explosion
more marvellous than the Big Bang.
It is a miracle that I am here,
an event of miniscule probability,
but a reality I can feel and touch.
My body hums with life, a well-tuned whole,
a thing of wonder and glory.
HOW DARE I QUESTION HOW
the storm will pass over?
It's not understandable or predictable,
but neither is my presence here.
[Hanna Newcombe]
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The last time global climate change transformed our planet was back in the sixth century AD---the heart of the Dark Ages. Though, Hanna Newcombe's faith and optimism are commendable, it might not be enough, this time, for mankind to just simply expect "the Angel of Death" to "brush" this new emerging civilization "with his wings" and just "pass over as in days of yore." Humanity may have to work harder for the "unexpected answer." If the Angel of Death has oftentimes been cast in art and literature as a chess player, the times we live in could be compared to a chess endgame---or the beginning of a new game. Many studies have been dedicated to endgame positions. Such positions are solved by finding a win when there is no obvious way of winning. This is the game of Life. Life or Death, this is our choice.
Photograph: Bruce Dale
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