We are the suffering; the collateral damage of the business of governments, that is the business of warfare, that is naturally going bankrupt. This was to be expected. Reality is experience described in stark contrast to idealism, it is the big picture viewed from the bottom.
The tranquil place I often go to sit and write is, at the moment, a construction zone. And, though I've done my best to distance myself from the work in progress, I find the mystic music of inspiration drowned out by static noise, irritation.
The equipment belches, rumbles, surges forth and clashes violently with the peace of all here trying to ignore it, putting the body at odds with the mind, thereby distressing the soul.
I am discouraged. I am broken down. I am disappointed, caught off guard. I am losing control of the only thing one can completely control, how I feel. I must be satisfied with this condition, it is all I know, but at the moment, my perspective has shifted. I am still empty after I eat, but somewhere within me I know there is still a moment of joy I must move on to find. That's it! I've had enough.
I walk 'til the workday is over. It was the walk that was missing, the moments of joy in every step; quality dark chocolate filled with more chocolate, fine Earl Grey tea, fresh water, all still within my reach when I'm resourceful. I come full circle to my writing spot. The workmen have gone, the equipment sits dormant, and though the hillside is scarred, and the noise will be here tomorrow surely as the Sun will rise, there is peace again. Trees softly rustle while I nap on a bench to a chorus of birds, insects, and far away dogs. Hard earned solitude in the shade.
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