Ivor Hughes.
The howling of the Wolves on those cold clear Northern nights carried a pathosthat twisted like a knife in my heart .. yes I hear you .. because my roots arealso old and that is how we all did it in the beginning .. before the burgeoningpressure of a budding new consciousness taught us how to speak .. but we stillpay 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 tounderstand 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 GrandClock the hall. And at each hourly chime a hundred thousand die an obscenedeath. And whilst hunger .. Vulture like circles in the sky .. and babies aredying in untold numbers .. little gums still gnawing the collapsed pap of itmothers breast ..
Its the eyes that most haunt me .. the mothers eyes .. the eyes of slowlystarving little ones .. and my heart howls at the moon .. no, no, I beg of youdo not give up .. we are coming .. but this time not with the proconsulmissionary and then the troops to support a governor .. the tigers face ismoulting and we see you better now .. for our technological advancement wasacross your ancestors bones .. and soon to be yours .. but before we can embraceyou as our own .. we have to put down the Corporations who use us in a verydifferent way to you.
It all seems so obvious now .. For I have to deal first with self .. and understandwhat it is .. the symbols that they use upon us .. actually trigger. Just whatemotion are they playing a tune upon? .. I understand well what an emotionalthing is greed and fear .. yes I see it now .. greed and fear are a selfreplicating virus .. each feeding from each other .. Ah ha! so thats how itsdone .. first they cultivated my greed and then introduced the fear which pingpong like bounce from one to the other .. and in sharp focus the image of themisery of my war time family life .. and anger wells.
Ah bittersweet! .. I must search my heart lest the toxic emotion of revengestunt a blossoming .. I need a cultural revolution within myself .. I need tounderstand the conditioning of the system on a young and growing mind .. andanother image springs into clear focus .. newly hatched ducklings who onobserving movement .. mistook it for mum, as they waddled after a man in a whitecoat, carrying a clip board.