Howling at the Moon.
Ivor Hughes.
The howling of the Wolves on those cold clear Northern nights carried a pathos
that twisted like a knife in my heart .. yes I hear you .. because my roots are
also old and that is how we all did it in the beginning .. before the burgeoning
pressure of a budding new consciousness taught us how to speak .. but we still
pay homage to the old ways in our music and our song.
So yes .. you and I understand one another behind the facade of creed,
caste or politics .. lately I have been howling at the moon striving to
understand the echoes converging in on me from all directions of the wind
.. Striving to understand just where and how it all went wrong in the beginning
.. oh so many people howling at the moon.
War follows War .. relentlessly like the hour hand in fixed compass of the Grand
Clock the hall. And at each hourly chime a hundred thousand die an obscene
death. And whilst hunger .. Vulture like circles in the sky .. and babies are
dying in untold numbers .. little gums still gnawing the collapsed pap of it
mothers breast ..
Its the eyes that most haunt me .. the mothers eyes .. the eyes of slowly
starving little ones .. and my heart howls at the moon .. no, no, I beg of you
do not give up .. we are coming .. but this time not with the proconsul
missionary and then the troops to support a governor .. the tigers face is
moulting and we see you better now .. for our technological advancement was
across your ancestors bones .. and soon to be yours .. but before we can embrace
you as our own .. we have to put down the Corporations who use us in a very
different way to you.
It all seems so obvious now .. For I have to deal first with self .. and understand
what it is .. the symbols that they use upon us .. actually trigger. Just what
emotion are they playing a tune upon? .. I understand well what an emotional
thing is greed and fear .. yes I see it now .. greed and fear are a self
replicating virus .. each feeding from each other .. Ah ha! so thats how its
done .. first they cultivated my greed and then introduced the fear which ping
pong like bounce from one to the other .. and in sharp focus the image of the
misery of my war time family life .. and anger wells.
Ah bittersweet! .. I must search my heart lest the toxic emotion of revenge
stunt a blossoming .. I need a cultural revolution within myself .. I need to
understand the conditioning of the system on a young and growing mind .. and
another image springs into clear focus .. newly hatched ducklings who on
observing movement .. mistook it for mum, as they waddled after a man in a white
coat, carrying a clip board.
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