Though Johnny Cash’s song is as clear as crystal about solitude, the blues, and the foggy haze of a Sunday morning after a wild Saturday night, it oddly echoes the serenity of this particular Sunday morning, which coincided with the first frost of the season, a gentle nudge reminding us of the impending winter’s chills.
I’m rather fortunate, living in an idyllic village, in a tranquil shire of this peaceful country. True, we’ve been subjected to an absurd measure of inequality, rampant poverty, and a concerning erosion of our liberties. Yet, in this haven, there’s no imminent danger that’s got us quaking in our boots. We don’t tremble at the thought of bombs falling from the sky or an impending foreign invasion that necessitates evacuation as the only option.
Me mam had a favourite saying, “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” Children will be well-versed in that wisdom, but it appears that many of us grown-ups have forgotten. I need not elaborate on the issues at hand; it’s all acutely obvious.
Perusing the headlines is like a slow poison seeping into the soul. I’m afraid my fortitude won’t be able to hold out much longer. I have already found myself intentionally avoiding the “news.” Am I right in doing so? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to comprehend the essence of conflicts? But where do we turn when the sources themselves are tainted, marred by bias, insisting we pick a side? It’s nigh impossible in the ceaseless calls to arms, to remain neutral in the quest for a humane, intelligent, and enduring peace. The Svengalis will have us clamouring for blood.
Leave a Reply