In The Image of Cruelty
I find cruelty, in all it’s forms, to be abhorrent to my own nature. Perhaps it is because I do not include such things in my experiential baggage or perhaps the reason for my rejection is that I take no pleasure in such force-full pursuits instead, relying upon the exchange of spiritually shared bonds forged in a commonality from where we all take root. It is in that pleasurable realm from which my view of this planet takes precedence and in so doing I find no place among the so-called ‘living’. Cruelty can be mitigated based upon moral customs and rituals but since I take no refuge in commercial marketing techniques, this too I find abhorrent.
Perhaps my reasoning for such thoughts lies with the fact of my own strange and unusual ways, of the wending of the way through life and living which or course reflects my own inability to stake my own claim to a piece of ‘life’. In this way I find it much easier to do for others rather than to expel such energy upon my own shenanigans and so begets the phrase I’ve repeatedly used, my life is not my own.
I can understand and acknowledge that most people have no such ideology, no such creed and so are free to take, to gorge themselves upon the trough and not just to feed, but to feed well. Despite the times of providing such sustenance the repulsion never leaves and so I ask the question, how can another do such, but it seems that this too finds no place on my ‘to-do’ list.
Despite the fact that neither my time nor attention gives sway to such endeavors it does not mean that the significance passes me by. Don’t cry for me Argentina.
There is no place for me among the living who wish to embrace the now well established rote of living through torment. As I watch through the cycle of time I understand the rise and fall, the sweeping arc of epic adventures and in so understanding I do not move. It is not that I do not move but rather that there is no movement to be had and so, I accomplish nothing. But that is only in relation to appearances and as we all know, this planet is nothing but an appearance, of that which makes an appearance and… leaves. But like a bad smell, the odor can linger a while longer despite the corpse being long gone.
But what has this to do with my own rejection of cruelty? It’s not that I become repulsive to such ideology but rather take lack of participation. In fact, I embrace it with such high regard that I am forced to action.
That is such a funny thought.