Even Keel

For some reason I recalled, this morning, a scene from the Indian Ocean when I was aboard ship heading to Australia. We had crossed the equator a day or two before when we spied, first on surface search radar, my bailiwick, and then visually a schooner fully rigged and heading roughly north-northwest. We were a warship and they a sailing vessel. The history and irony did not escape me. The ancient and docile, the new, bristling with missiles, nuclear warheads and cannon.

That was, perhaps, the first time in my then short life that I had this feeling of the ironic as haunts our times now. The first time that I fully considered that humanity had painted itself into a corner with weapons that now hang over our heads on a death watch. The final idea of our human incapacity to properly reason and act on reasonable assumptions as concerns one another.

I am from the last generation that considered law to be a good thing. Of course there are exceptions along the way but the voices of reason have grown silent while the unreasonable have become raucous and shrill, drowning out any vestige of consideration for each of us being on the same boat, or ship. A generation showing no love and full of self.

I understand now why prophecy in the Bible is relegated to the trash heap. It has to be this way and here I am having participated in a war that, for the most part, allowed the leftists a foothold on the consciousness of this country: the Vietnam war. I was a volunteer as patriotism was part and parcel of all children born after World War Two. It needs to be emphasized that all of this is part of prophecy, a thing I was then unfamiliar with. Now I see this world playing out the part that was so long ago noted to be the signal of our times. We are on the cusp of new. A new world and that comes only with the destruction of the old world. An irony that grates against our ideas of progress. A fulfillment of being taken back to the beginning and I believe that this is what we are all feeling now. The scudding clouds before the storm. The birds have gone silent.

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Kindness East, Middle Too Plenty
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Odd T.C.