THE LABYRINTH
WRIGGLES
By some universal alignment of galaxies, on down to the last molecule, forces outdo what any astrologer could have foreseen. More measurements are called for to confirm a new force of nature. It will be easy, once having all the data.
Of course there will be some who dislike it. Disbelief is easier.
Next will be those unconcerned about drowning, because life is not a dream. And everyone has to wake up.
Last in line will be the ones already awake.
So what might have been postponed, probably waiting until beings from beyond our solar system come to visit, actually happens.
There obtains a general agreement amongst disparate cultures – fighting each other is wasteful. Fossil fuel energy is outmoded. Destruction of ecosystems grinds to a halt. Equitable distribution of food, clean water, arable land, housing and education all take priority over profits. A widespread awareness forms; rampant reproduction is suffocating life. There is a new recognition; government needs to serve people in their pursuit of self-realization.
Except for those embroiled in climate change migrations. Reaction from the streets, prisons, palaces, parliaments and bombed out hospitals is not brief.
Data? It was going to be easy. Well, take a sunset for instance, golden red. Dawn, somewhat the same. What else? A bird song maybe, the petulant breeze widening out. It's about where you'd like to draw the line. A Navaho sand painting melting in spring rains . . .
What it needs is a weather proof vest, abandonment of hide bound habits. Put simply, it can't be figured. When proof comes, past all argument, then comes told ya so. Already too late. Comfortable?
Wear a special hat and say it doesn't matter. Or a traditional robe, conferring permission to ignore it. See the lizard drop its tail to avoid getting caught. Theories of structural violence fly with the wind. All along, by the way it grows, the labyrinth wriggles in and out of view. Doorways to nowhere. Stairs that never end. It's hard to keep track when all that is deemed normal. If enough explanations are made. An auto is for transportation isn't it? Or a gilded prison with movies playing in the back seat and voice commands given to a travel route computer, which will answer back. There will be a weather report delivered by a live human, or so it seems, trying to match the delivery of a tobacco auctioneer. Tending to flatten disasters, flipping them like beads of an abacus.
Everything has been jostled. No doubt of that. Things aren't the way they were, quite. Some things are. The nuclear stalemate, probably. Teeming masses of people piling up. Oceans full of plastic. The pandemic not going away. Something will be done. Something not too far from normal. Concentrate on the cheerful ads. States of emergency will level off. But things are coming back.
It gets chopped up like potato salad, mixed together in Humpty's dream, or it just appears. Out of nowhere. Or just watching Big Bee getting nectar from a flower. And all the while unexpected weather blazes down an abundant afternoon, blowing cold rain the next, feel it to your shoes.
Even a Sumo wrestler knows the permafrost is melting. The earth offers no support. What's just outside the ring doesn't matter, so don't think about it. One thing at a time. For all the data that's fit to smush with the stomp of a foot, there will be a reckoning. Even Artificial Intelligence, introspecting secret algorithms, will posit solutions no one can justify. The permafrost is mating. While eying with the eye of averages, forms of the norm are suspended. For good. Never to return.
What's needed is already born, being born all the time, though in the minority. More than data is required. Plunge into poetry, soar up to metaphysics, the usual disclaimers still apply. Mention the obvious wonder of life, quietly the appreciation. Until this does actually apply, we hurtle towards our doom. What are the chances? Here the data dwindle down into a roll of the dice.
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