My People

My People

1993

 jp

So, I had gone to school and Melanie hooked up with Derek and Andrew went to Namibia and Paul got a school scholarship and Caroline returned from Honduras and Lance put a roof on his car wash and Andy cracked another gutter joke and Ruth worried about community farming and Linda zapped and zipped and zollered organizing a b c AND d and Tony flew and made babies and Farokh believed in development and Sally bussled and busied getting messages to everyone and soccer would soon kick off and some went gone to Malawi and India and Indonesia and Columbia and The Gambia and jp cancelled everything to stay home and not try to save or plan the world.

Of course, as a modern day missionary of the rational mind jp (that's me) would have to go through the motions of believing the mania of school, washing cars, soccer, and flying off to other countries.  He would have to do a thesis.  He had decided on strategic economic community planning and development.  A game player.

Sometimes I am sorry.  Sorry that I cannot see the world as though how we humans have invented it matters.  Matters of consequence.  How did St. Exupery come to writing the Little Prince?  What are these matters of consequence?

My people look out over the landscape.

Briefly, we see the infinity beyond the horizon.

But it is only before bed at night,

And then we sleep,

Or for a moment when waking,

And then we put our feet to the floor,

Only in these brief moments do we become aware how our busyness is meaningless.

Then we dash.

There is an office to get to

And expectations of others

We all of us assuming without thinking that what each of us does matters

While we worry about this summer's family reunion

Mortgage payments

Weight gain

And the tire rut on our front lawn.

My people worry about moving faster than the decision makers

In service to the lowly

After all, we have been taught to believe

We matter

Are consequential.

We do not see the pennies we have paid the mirror maker

All our lives from cradle to the moment we read this page

That we are but grovelling courtiers

Willingly sipping in the koolaid

That the world is naught but equal, liberal, and each of us our merit due.

While our legs run fueled by greed.