The dry ground was limitlessly barren, a hard shell resisting the trespass of human intruders. I traveled as an unwanted alien for whom refuge is forbidden - maybe even outlawed, as is for many crying, hopeful hearts. I had to wonder if to continue was more of a sin than stopping, better to melt under the blinding sun into the resentful ground as if I'd never been. You may ask how I even came to be in this spot. I had nowhere else to go.
The one thing I thought must be a mirage, was real. A Ukrainian flag, planted as if it were on the moon, with no visible tree line or vegetation in sight, fluttered defiantly in the ceaseless crosswinds. Part of me wanted to laugh. The edge of the flag was charred, burned away by some unknown enemy. At first I was confused on why the entirety of the flag was not burned. Then I felt the currents of the wind and wondered how they ever got a flame started in the first place.
A flag is placed where no one can see it, someone does see it and tries to burn it - and just who the hell drags a flagpole onto concrete land like this in the first place?? Questions kept streaming into my head and I half-believed that had been the point of the entire exercise. But something told me that was not it. Whomever planted that flag had a clear and present reason in their head. And if I knew that reason I doubt I'd be comforted to hear it.
I certainly knew my reason to be wandering the land that time rejected. Man is never so monstrous as when he becomes civilized: the worst of our traits institutionalized into heavy molten chains. We are told to shine our chains like good little boys, to ignore the chain pain, accept the "inevitable". Do that and your future is secured, they say. Few ask if any of that is even true. I did - and look where it got me. But that final conversation with a civilized man was more than I can take.
"This Crusader guy tried to destroy us. He was showin' everyone how to take the chains off. Can ya imagine that! We'd be left to ruin our own lives!"
I was too disheartened to immediately reply realizing this is with whom I share my planet. "Perhaps you meant to say 'run', not 'ruin'."
"Oh, no sir. None of that for me. A Political Man saved us, said he'd run our lives for us. Showed us how chains is freedom with that smart talk of his. But now, for some reason no one knows, everyone is all pissed off all the time."
"Go figure. Maybe that Political Man can figure out."
"Oh, he done that already. He says it's everybody's fault but his."
"How's that working out for ya?"
"Won't know till we're through killin' everybody."
So that's how you end up in the middle of nowhere. I'd just as soon die with the taste of freedom in my mouth as staying on the chain gang. But I didn't want to die alone. As if to answer my private plea, I saw a ghost stop on the horizon.
Behind the cantina bar was a woman with her elbow on the counter and her face resting on the palm of her hand. On a park bench table was a preoccupied mother with her child, both slowly eating from stark plaster bowls. No one moved or noticed my arrival. In fact, I came to see they were unmovable, mountains of eternity. This scared me.
Despite the silence, the air was thick and heavy, as if I were wading through invisible water. The simple act of my standing observation wore me down as the waves kept crashing against me like a sea wall. I sat at the farthest bench to steady myself. It was then I realized I was saying nothing because I somehow knew to say nothing. It was as certain as the sun in the sky. But why?
Because they've heard it all before.
They were simply going through their daily rituals as required by the thorns of the earth - but they were waiting. And until what they were waiting for came, they had no interest, to be delivered from Egypt their only concern. The Political Man has no audience here! A dawning smile in admiration crossed my lips. Every dog has its day - and for some that spells doom and for others it brings final victory. The Ghost Stop regulars are not be trifled with.
Moving on, a thought struck me on my way out the door.
"Love is in the air!"
Every eye turned to me in cautious anticipation, but seeing I had no follow up, their focus returned to their lives. But I'd joined their waiting queue.
It was clear my future lay as a Forager in Nature's forest, living off society's scraps, hiding in the world's blind spots, trying to stay out of the crosshairs. No, my lifestyle will not be envied - but my breathing will be as they choke on the rage of their chains (however willing they may be). And for that I won't be forgiven by the mad hordes.
But I found a fellow Forager and in our communion was the presence of God amid the impartial dead leaves and harboring trees. I told her the story of the chain gangs and she cleared my eyes.
"Yes, I too sought to escape that hell. The true battle is not what they claim. It's not between this group and that group or any divisions in nature. It's the battle for self-respect that's underneath the rising rhetoric you hear. They use many disguises! But if you stay true to yourself you will never be fooled. Those who've given up seek you to join their Tragedy. But their greatest fear is you'll find out the tragedy need not be. Life is a state of mind."
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