I don't think things actually change so much when it comes
to humanity. At least not so far. Maybe it hasn't been long enough yet.
Yes, there is less violence today, worldwide, than in known
human history... And the Internet and smart phones makes
it thus that I, a walking zombie, can write this on ghetto phone and be
read by you in an almost instantaneous proliferation.
And who are you?
You could be anyone, and therefore you are everyone: a middle class
teacher in East Texas. A farmer's son in rural India. An Army Sargent
stationed somewhere no one even knows far across the globe from the park
where I am currently walking, and typing, a woman bursting with life
but still just one of the watchers of this sea of people.
Here, in this park, I marvel that maybe
some things have changed, for while I walk past homeless people
engaging in morning baths, with the use of half empty plastic gallons of
water and jagged splinters of mirrors, I also see gaggles of Hispanic
ladies between the ages of 21 and 30, pushing stroller after stroller of
lily white children in designer outfits. I see pony-tailed, man-bunned,
tattooed actors and commercial directors being barked at by tiny girls
with six pack abs in boot camp. Elderly Asians with their Tai Chi. A Latino boxer surrendering to his trainer with a near Christ-like
humility. The dog walkers, the crows. Little children singing. A Hasidic
beauty in a red wig, two toddlers in yarmulkes. An old Indian couple, he
in a golf tee shirt waiting for she in traditional garb, walking with a
cane. The angry tweaking woman shaking a tree branch at me... and my
long shadow, ever by my side as we walk home past the proud
edifications of commerce and "progress," outdoor shopping malls
disguised as public parks with meaningful family activities.
Perhaps it has changed... perhaps it is no longer a tale of
two cities but a tale of many worlds, and those many worlds are
furiously becoming one....
And my inner cynic gazes at the Hispanic nannies and the
white babies and I think to myself, none of those children's parents better vote
for Trump, because then who will raise their children? And my inner
governor chastises me for judging, because I'm an artist who will
likely only have children if a financial windfall comes my way, and I
don't know if I have it in me to dedicate my life to screaming,
thankless brats.... but of course I do, for I am a human, and once,
often, and forever almost all of us cry for mother's milk.
"Don't judge," I say, under my breath,
Just watch.
I am watching, and as I watch, my heart opens up. Why? Why does all this humanity make me love even more?
I watch, and I see. I see thieves. I see liars. And in those folks, I see little children. And I see hope, and I see peace, and I see heartbreak. And then I see beyond that, catapulting back through the years, years and years and years, back to the place where our matter comes from, from the stars, from the energy of trillions and quadrillions of years, and I see we are just all here at this party over and over again. I'm not saying necessarily as past lives or any of those things, but I know that the matter that makes you was once the matter that made my relatives, and may, in seven years, once all our cells have turned around again, be the matter that becomes me once again.
So, we're at this party. Let's dance.
