I am in Times Square in New York City. The area that surrounds me is a blur of motion. I am overwhelmed and in awe of the movements, the sounds of people, machines, the electricity all around me. There has to be more concrete, more cables and wires more human flesh and blood here than on any street anywhere else in the world. I stand within a stones' throw of it all. I can barely notice the sky because so much of it is blocked out by the tall buildings. As I look around I can understand at least to some extent the things I am seeing. Now I don't know how to build a skyscraper but to some degree I can understand and appreciate how others do. I have no great technical knowledge of how concrete is poured, how cars are made, or even how to maintain this large moving crowd in a civil and orderly fashion but I do have some idea of how it happens. I stop on the sidewalk and take it all in. I drop my theatre tickets and it is only as I stoop to pick them up that I notice the ant. I do not know if the ant notices me, but it's at this time, in the middle of this city jungle that my mind freezes momentarily and I consider the ant. The ant arrived here through the same path as me. His creator was my creator. He was given the tools needed to do the job he's here to do. He does not meddle in my life and I try not to meddle in his although now, for the moment I probably am meddling just a bit in his but only because I'm curious.
Like me, the ant can't build a skyscraper or wire an electric sign but that's O.K. , he really does not care . The disasters that took place nearby here on 9/11probably went unnoticed by him....not his monkey/not his show. The things that I now pause to look at in wonder might as well be the far milky-way galaxy to his world. They are so far away and out of reach that he won't strain his mind even thinking about them. What IS important to him is the tunnel he's working on at the moment. I can't diminish the importance of that tunnel any more than he can diminish the importance of the New York skyline to me. That is the difference in perception that 6 feet can make. When I am falling asleep tonight I'll think of the lights and the billboards.....he will think of the milky-way. They are one and the same. We exist in more than one dimension and are a part of more than one reality. For all I know the earth really is flat. I can only argue that point from my own perspective. I only see my world through bent light and from narrow angles. How can I say that the ant cannot logically differ with me from his perspective? His earth is flat, at least what he knows of it, and it doesn't make him right or wrong, dumb or smart, it just makes him an ant. I must accept that the ant seemed to know just what needed to be done from day one......and I'm still trying to figure it out. I think in time the ants of this world might actually build a car if the need should ever arise to do so, and it'll be a better car than the ones we build. Could we ever build a better tunnel than the ants? I doubt it. I certainly doubt it.
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I never sleep well. In fact I usually sleep 4-5 hours a night at most. It's not unusual for me to awaken to some random thought, so a couple of nights ago when I awoke with the question on my mind "Are there double-wide trailers in Mexico?" I didn't even wonder where the notion came from. However I was anxious to find out so I googled images of said trailers (in Mexico) and couldn't find any. The rugged and rocky terrain of Mexico did get me to thinking about western movies and so I started to wonder about Mark. Mark was the young son of the Lucas McCain in the T.V. series The Rifleman. In almost every episode the sheriff as a problem and rather than handle it himself he rides out to the McCain spread to enlist the aid of Lucas. Usually within 24 hours Lucas has ridden into town and gunned the "problem" down in the street like a sorry yellow dog. That's all well and good, but he usually does it right in front of Mark, and Mark is only 12 or 13 years old. I'm not sure just how mature one would have to be to not be damaged by these sights, but I'm pretty sure Mark isn't there yet.
This thought of unfit parents caused me to think about Timmy. You might remember Timmy. He was the boy from the long-running Lassie series. Where the hell did Timmy live? Every time he went out to play he fell into a well or an old abandoned mine shaft. His mother should have tied a board across his ass. Lassie was the only one that had any sense. Now I'm getting sleepy again and I'm headed back to bed wondering why do they not have double-wide trailers in Mexico? I want to mention it to my wife but she will be irritated if I wake her for that. I know from experience. The next day a friend explains to me that my condition has a name. It's called "Monkey Brain". I looked it up. It's real. I'm not going to spoil it for you by telling you the definition. This is now the end of the story. The end of the story unless you also have "Monkey Brain", and if so you will probably want to look it up yourself. Probably at 3 in the morning. |
AuthorI am a Mississippi native and now live in Jackson,Tennessee. I write about everyday life and events from the perspective of how they effect my own thoughts and feelings. Archives
April 2020
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