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Smokin, a serious reflection.
Man's earliest structured culture/society arose in Sumer (Mesopotamia) almost years 6,000 past, headed by a Monarch, the norm of rule across the globe till the eve of the Great War.
Many successive cultures continued to improve Man's condition by the application
of creative ideas to daily life; among them the rules of Agriculture, the discovery of
the elements of Nature as a means of improving Man health thereby extending his life
and the application of the order of Mathematics enabling him to construct bridges,
roads and tunnels, as well as structures, extending his reach/vision.
As Plato knew, a spiritual awareness was required for creativity to flourish, yet none
of our forebears were motivated by riches, as history attests.
Yet what about us who proclaim our greatness, daily. What proof is offered supporting this???
Why it's the testament of the 'fat wallet', doncha know!
I raise this, not as an argument, but rather because I sense a sea change in attitude is
bubbling below the surface and playing a role in the sturm und drang that plagues us
for a lot longer that we realize/understand.
It is sad that a man's "success" is measured by the thickness of his wallet rather than the number who will genuinely weep at his passing, but then, who decided what success is? Rich people?
Yet daily, we hear (despite all their means of making such things quiet) how miserable and messed up their lives often are. So, if you wish, keep that scoreboard.
I'll take the small rowboat I first gave a girlfriend a ride in over a yacht that has parking problems.
I prefer an older vehicle I know well and don't slavishly fret over like someone who spends a fortune for the newest, latest, most exotic. Mine may not go fastest, but I'd bet I'll beat them off the light at least 8 times out of ten, and still get around when it snows.
My house is humble. It doesn't take an army to clean and maintain, and is not the stuff of awe, but within these walls infused with laughter are memories of Christmas' Past, of elders and children loved, of triumph and disaster, of prayers to Almighty God over every meal. It is home.
My day to day attire, too, is humble, for I find beauty in function and durability. I'll not balk at helping a friend over fretting about 'ruining' a suit or tie or fancy shoes, because me wearing those is a rare event indeed.
I know what it is with these arms to hold a brand new life, and to say goodbye to one. I have beheld tremendous joy, and abysmal woe, all for reasons which made the pecuniary scoreboard irrelevant. I have, as an adult, played in the creek, as a child would, with no need of fancy gadgets, just things found at hand, and been happy.
I have been to enough places to learn to find beauty almost anywhere I go, from desolate wastes, to verdant gardens, to marvel at the great constructs of man, yet be at home with the most humble of them. I have held the bones of those before me, and seen the promise of some who follow, swam in waters, fresh and salt, breathed air below the level of the sea and from mountaintops where it is thin, and marveled at the wonder (and sometimes fury) of God's creations.
In all this I find greater love, not for the art, but the Artist, as I, another of His creations, am at play in a wondrous universe of His devising.
And while I appreciate all humans' efforts to rival or copy such, will never know the wonder at a tall building that I do at a mountain, never the awe of crafted pools I have felt canoeing in a salt marsh at sunset, nor sound such a marvel as a beating heart.
I don't care how they keep score. I am rich indeed.
