5000 Year Old Cave Painting - Kimberley, Austalia
Once I dreamed of an open plain where the wind blew futile with nothing to howl about.
For what use is a hero without an audience? His white horse will not thank him for those spur scars on its flank.
The wind and weather-worn wood of the frontier outpost offers no comfort for those who died, abandoned by the system of supply and demand.
Even those wild desert dwellers; four-legged reptilian - outcast species evolved to survive by virtue of their singular tenacity – even they do not thank us for progress that defines them and places them in boxes that glorify our species as master of all.
Even they will suffer our ascent to godhead when we open the smallest of those boxes and unleash our knowledge.
If perhaps there is life on other planets; other systems; other plains or planes – will they bear witness to our spectacular finale; a cosmic lesson at least on the dangers of arrogance?
Will some form of alien astronomer; some light years hence; ponder the demise of a once blue world; perhaps theorising on the nature of the extraterrestrial force that would turn a planet into glass?
And on the dark side of his world would there be room for those who disagreed; those who question his telescopic quest? Would they plot his downfall, quoting revolutionary slogan, and question his reasons for looking so far?
And what minute percentage; what malleable mass; can be driven like cattle to do their ugly duty, to justify slaughter with slogans and political manoeuvrings and never comprehend their positions to be so insignificant as to never even be credited as pawns in the game.
Once I dreamt of an open plain where silence was all; where the grains of crystal sand held no clue to what went before.
For what use is a hero without an audience? His white horse will not thank him for those spur scars on its flank.
The wind and weather-worn wood of the frontier outpost offers no comfort for those who died, abandoned by the system of supply and demand.
Even those wild desert dwellers; four-legged reptilian - outcast species evolved to survive by virtue of their singular tenacity – even they do not thank us for progress that defines them and places them in boxes that glorify our species as master of all.
Even they will suffer our ascent to godhead when we open the smallest of those boxes and unleash our knowledge.
If perhaps there is life on other planets; other systems; other plains or planes – will they bear witness to our spectacular finale; a cosmic lesson at least on the dangers of arrogance?
Will some form of alien astronomer; some light years hence; ponder the demise of a once blue world; perhaps theorising on the nature of the extraterrestrial force that would turn a planet into glass?
And on the dark side of his world would there be room for those who disagreed; those who question his telescopic quest? Would they plot his downfall, quoting revolutionary slogan, and question his reasons for looking so far?
And what minute percentage; what malleable mass; can be driven like cattle to do their ugly duty, to justify slaughter with slogans and political manoeuvrings and never comprehend their positions to be so insignificant as to never even be credited as pawns in the game.
Once I dreamt of an open plain where silence was all; where the grains of crystal sand held no clue to what went before.
4 comments:
Beautiful to see this. I am enjoying the moment.
The beginnings and the endings of our planet, observed from some never known to us source, a witness to our downfall. I wonder if they would learn from us. How many worlds have been lost.
and can i just add, on the design of your blog: its so
"tutu"
Thank you flying monkeys - I shall honour the concept of 'tutu' always. I tip my metaphorical hat to the Yoruba spirit.
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