Praying for Rain…with the devil in a dog suit.

By tdf, January 7, 2015

Tantalizing rain clouds pass overhead, thunder bellows intermittently in the distance, Oscar lays by my feet on the cool concrete recently dowsed by the hose, panting, yet still admirably eager to ‘protect’ his prized bone from any perceived enemy, be that a bird chirping or stray lemon tree leaf which rolls past his snout…This heat is oppressive and debilitating, casting its spell of languidness into every orifice, every synapse, even the cutlery in the kitchen drawers are warm to the touch. It is an external fever, from which the only cure is time and my prayers for the heavens to open, releasing an apocalyptic deluge. A blizzard would be ideal.

If the little scamp wasn’t prone to maim and fight to a macabre conclusion at the merest hint of bother, I would drag him into the shower, but alas…I still hold value in my limbs. The safest option is to stroke him with a handful of ice, which he appears to enjoy until realizing that his fur coat is sodden and the fangs begin to show through that cunning smile…

…The privileged few in Roman society had channels built into the walls of their villas into which the genius aqueducts would flow the aqua pura between the bricks in order to maintain a comfortable temperature within the confines. The Persians had their Wind Towers, and of course, the Chinese, those dastardly pioneers of ancient times had their own cooling systems in place as early as the second century; water-powered giant rotary fans.

What has happened to these technologies? Like so many wondrous mainstays of the Old World, they have been banished to the annals of antiquity. As has Valour, True Romance, Loyalty, Bravery. Such wonders have become commercialized, like life itself. We go to the cinema to watch people fall in love, then head home, kiss our partners goodnight then turn back to back, comfortable in the compromise. We marvel at the Bravery of Leonidas, the burning passion of his Queen, then show mass disinterest in the Bravery of those fighting tooth and claw against a comparable evil of our own manufacture, tax-based financing and complicity. We join in the applause of biopics of Mandela and Che then go to work and join in the bitch whispering the very next morning in the corporate trenches.

We live in a world where dreams and mysticism are seen as puerile, yet conveniently forget that the world we live in today has been carved apart and put back together by the mysticism and dreams of the Old World. I admire those of Today with a dream, with a spirit, whether they be focused on conjuring a bohemian retreat on a New Zealand island or chasing the ambrosia of a true love which lasts a life time or simply fighting the Good Fight; those precious few who will risk everything to gain everything.

A system has been carefully devised to keep us content with our lot, with comfortable survival, with convenience, with passing each day without torment or trial, much of which is understandable, yet a compromise is brought to bear, and that compromise is all too often of Dreams and Spirit and Vitality.

Age and experience can turn dreams into nightmares, can batter the spirit down into mangled submission, yet that special light, those wonderful flames, which I have seen in certain special creatures decades ago, still can be felt in their words, seen in their eyes, to this very day.

I have become fearful, evasive of my dreams embodied in the wakeful realm, yet the pilot light remains intact. In those fleeting moments when I hit full stride, I feel so alive, but the inferno does not catch, I retract into myself and look back with regret, sometimes shame, on the sparks in the pan I have conjured, for when I find myself propelled to such fervour, I take breath, look around and find the countenance of concern and unease all around me. At best, uncomfortable smiles. And I realize I am not amongst my own Tribe.

My largest worry is surely that I am assimilating to the status quo of a dead world in which we are not that far removed, for the many, from the cattle we feed, then slaughter when the time is Right.

My Soul may have become square shaped. When I always thought it a playful unicorn.

What is of prime importance is finding Meaning…in Everything I express to the world. And hoping to find those of the same ilk. Obsequiousness and Superficiality are attacking me from too many quarters, and in their absence, I encounter mainly apathy. Is it so hard to truly mean everything we do and say?

Praying for Rain…with the devil in a dog suit.

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