RESPONSIBILITY
The clock of my time, I do not know what it is but it looks dismal; has it always been like this? When I was young I remember the fear of the ‘bomb’ but distantly. I think there might once have been days when we looked at the future with optimism; better times for our children, a kinder more gentle more relaxed world. Is that vision so far from the truth that I am deluded?
I worry that we have made a world where it is easy for me to think of Wendys children’s children scavenging the hedgerows for food, eating things that make them more and more sick; a world where it is easy for some of us to say;
“We made this; it will be a relief when the blight that we have written on the world is removed by our own annihilation.”
I do not like this. I think the world is beautiful; as beautiful to me as kissing Wendy in the morning or as beautiful as caresses or sunsets when the seabirds are screeching and settling for the night as the wonder of the sun slips out of sight and the bright clouds turn their faces to the cool of black. As beautiful as a comfy chair to sit in and curl up and read a book or as beautiful as knowing you will be able to eat in the evening.
I ache for the paper and the books and the articles that will convince me that I am not at the very, very, luckiest of times; where I have warmth and food, drink and laughter, love and purpose and kindness in my life. That somehow my son, and I can’t imagine it, but maybe his children, will also take such things for granted. I doubt it and think at the very bottom of my mind that much as I offer love and kindness and the new joy of living after a time, a long, long, time of sadness and despair; that such offerings mean little. For somehow the delight of a kiss and laughter and giving coins to homeless people is no substitute for the agony we are placing our world and our fellow citizens in; where the waters rise, the crops fail; people learn to hate for no reason at all.
I had hoped somehow that by giving to my neighbour or my community or even by doing the work, I do, I could atone and avoid responsibility for the actions of those who have power I cannot conceive of and have no idea how to influence.
In the meantime I will rest in my chair and when wee Charlotte comes for a cuddle I will cuddle her and when Dash the dog leaps up, I will smooth his hair and when Wendy settles, I will walk across to sit beside her and snuggle up because these are the gifts they give me daily and which I return. I will take James his meals upstairs; walk Dash and feed the rabbits and know this is impermanent but maybe it is all I can do.
Maybe the people in power who, I imagine, feel the same, also do the same, maybe that is our downfall?
(Photos: Ardmore and Bowling, Wendy and Dash, February 2023)