Sunday, February 13, 2011
I see the construction and the more, more, more, and I am weakened. Why can people not live simply? There are electric choppers and audio books and MEDIA. Why can't we write and think and read? It seems that people continue to let someone else do more for them. Clean my house. Cut my hair. Create my art. Tell me my opinion.
There is a tribe in some far flung country that escapes me now, and others are trying to get the rights to cut down the trees. This culture has survived with its pristine ways for centuries, but because they do not use running water, others think they can just take that away. What gods do they believe in? They can die from the common cold. There is little sickness. They have mud homes and gather food, garden...
There is a part of me that longs for such a life, to be free of all these walls.
I want to eat with my dirty hands, see women deliver child after child, learn to truly garden and be content with what surrounds me. These people do not leave a small radius of the earth, and they do not want to do so. A plane flew over with long-range lenses to give the world a glimpse of what might soon be destroyed. The people there looked up in astonishment, never having seen such a contraption so closely. Did they cough from the fumes?
I wonder if I could ever live in that manner? Now that I know of everything else, of the world, is it possible for me to give it up? Could I give up my bed? Maybe. Could I give up running water and hair cuts? Maybe. Could I give up my books and my longing to see the world, to be a citizen of the world? I doubt it.
There are so many people whom I wish to educate, but not them. I want them to stay where they are doing the same rituals that they've done for thousands of years. They are good. They are educated. They know so many things that no one can even imagine, not me and not you. They understand the language of the animals and the trees. That is brilliance.