There are so many things I want to be writing about, so many things I shouldbe writing about but … apathy grips me like indecision as, in the back of my lizard brain, my mind is screaming, ‘No, no don’t do it, don’t go down that road, don’t start getting political and writing about the things you care about. You know what will happen … and it’s not pleasant!’
And reptile brain is right. I’ve been down that road before and, not only suffered burn out, going up in flames but, as a result, I dropped out of blogging altogether for several years. So much so, I hardly recognised it when I finally did return.
Never mind that blogging about things I cared about brought out the vitriol … no, not from me, but others. Others who felt threatened by my world view and what I had to say. That kind of vitriol doesn’t just burn, it becomes all-consuming in it’s destruction, like a run-away grass fire.
And so, these days, my default setting has become a certain apathetic blindness to events. Because, let’s face it, it’s no long something that happens here or there, it’s not just weekly either. It’s become daily even hourly … news rooms give detailed blow by blow coverage demanding minute details from those being interviewed. It’s torture delivered live, to a screen near you, 24/7.
Reporters, like vultures, circle the maimed, the wounded, the fallen, the hurt, the dispossessed, picking over their corpses like so many carrion, in search of a morsel to display like a trophy, while evil slinks away to strike another day.
I weep for humanity, I weep for our collective soul, as depravity and corruption blossom while so many, like bunnies in the headlights, blink in fear and capitulate to what they feel, is the inevitable, making it so.
Death is final and will come for us all. A fact that offers hope to the future, to another generation for renewal, rebirth, and the chance to change the narrative, and the direction any future might take.
God help us if they fail, after all the roadblocks we’re giving them to overcome.
Maybe all we need is time. Or will time, in the end, have the last laugh on our kind? Who knows.