Saturday Someday

When you are retired or recuperating, days have no meaning. One day looks like the next and it’s always the weekend.

I’m not retired yet, but I’m on the mend. Everything looks slightly yet significantly different from the bed. I watch, contemplate and sleep. My past and future are forgotten, at least for now. There are only these immediate moments and what I see.

I watch TV—reluctantly—and observe the obvious madness of ordinary life. It’s not just the news that’s crazy. Regular people in their regular lives seem themselves to be mad.

You see, I’ve just had my closeup with the grim reaper less than a month ago and he holds no terror for me. But most people? Their lives are an ongoing series of reactions to suppressed terror. Whatever kind of fate or intelligence that created our species setup an impossibly tragic situation—creatures that fear death and are absolutely unable to avoid it.

People have a rational madness but the actions triggered by this suppressed fear is tragically foolish. The fear triggers anger and lashing out instead of empathy and love. Anger and brutality towards “the other.” And “the other” embraces otherhood and lashes back.

There is no “other” and no reason to lash. I was recovering nicely when I pointed this out and all sides attacked me. So I’m on the mend again.

But I can’t hide the truth. It’s too clear to me and becomes clearer with every beating I take.

I’m not afraid. One day, like everyone, I’ll close my eyes and never open them again. But not yet. I need to get people to confront their fear and conquer it and learn to love. It’s the only way forward. It’s Saturday they tell me. We’ll get there tomorrow. Someday.