Tower of Babel

The very winds hold their breath
as people trade in slaves and do their awful best
to climb-the-pole and tell the rest of us
that all we think we’d like to do – we MUST!
Ain’t that a funny thing to say
upon such a quiet and peaceful summer day?
-- unknown poet from the Third Galaxy

I had planned/hoped to post material reflecting the beauty and peace of lovely summer unfolding here in Denmark, tell about fields of rye and wheat, grass and barley and yellow mustard flower ripening in the summer heat, long quiet evenings of “bright night”, haze softened green and golden fields in the morning, afternoon blackbird song competitions, Danish women in summer dress reminding one of the blessed glory it is to be a man…

But the Crazy Bird flutters in the metapsychic sky and sees far with his poet’s eye – and that darn unemployed angel from the Third Galaxy keeps whispering in my ear. Yes, I see a cloud on the horizon and Man-u-El Ishman is right, what happens in the Third Galaxy could, but must not happen here!

I once read about a doctor who realized the advice he had been giving to patients with kidney stones was a bunch of crap. It was after he had a bout with stones and experienced what it means to feel broken glass grinding inside you that he could tell his patients the truth.

Quite similarly, you don’t understand what it means to go through a psychosis until you’ve lost your mind and come out of the tunnel a bit wiser. I’ve been there, ridden that horrible holy roller coaster, stared insanity in the eye and seen myself reflected there. It was a terrible experience knowing that the bombs had fallen and we all were just expanding clouds of gas and all meaning was dissolving into gibberish…

I wouldn’t trade those three days for anything in the world. For one thing, some of it was so damn funny! On that Sunday, when the peace began, two mormon missionaries came to pick me up and take me to their “church”. We got on the bus but I walked straight to the back and got off. Hearing their heavy American footsteps behind me, I turned around and bluntly told them, “You can stay in the City if you want to and become Traffic Lights, but I’m going out into the Wilderness and become a Tree!”

It then dawned somewhere in their finely washed and nicely ironed minds that this particular bozo was straight out of cloud cuckoo and they left me alone.

Sooo, I know what crazy is and I know that an awful lot if not most folks are more or less crazy. The thing is most folks share their craziness in common delusions. I have a strong feeling that a large group of Americans with common illusions are that close to tipping over from mass crazy to mass psychosis. A major catastrophe of some sort might tip them over and then the shit is really going to hit the fan, I kid you not!

The problem is and the point of this post is that there are two kinds of crazy, crazy-good and crazy-bad. All too many people think torture and murder and bombing the shit out of people is alright if done in the name of a good cause and that, dear hearts, is plain crazy-bad.