Help Me, Mr. Wizard

Or... We have got to fix this.

Photo by Fares Hamouche on Unsplash

We are forgetting reality. The analog life. Dirt on our hands kind of life.

Actually writing a loved one a note, a letter. Oh no, I don’t have the time.

Looking at people, what do you detect? Is there vibrancy or grayness? It is a graying of the mundane, of just existing.

Where is life? The light, the spring in a step?  No, not here. Just sluggishness at a hectic pace.

Point a to b to c to d and back again. Let us open our eyes, our minds, and our souls. What is going on around me what do I see?  What do I smell? What do I hear? What do I feel? What do I sense? 

I see nothing but smoke, no fire. I see a blankness in people in their existence, for it is not experience they choose but existence.

I hear noise, noise, and more noise. Frustration, agitation, rage, and more noise.

Not a kind word to be heard.

I  smell the decay. The rotting of the human soul. How is this so?  What have we done? Why do we not speak?  For there is no cry of righteousness here, nor anywhere.

The worst of it all, I sense dread. A never-ending well of angst. The air of doubt of our fellow man. A heavy blanket covers, shivering people from the coldness of what our lives have become.

The worst part, so many see this as normal.

Where are the heroes?  The mighty, the lions, the eagles?

Where are the believers of heaven on earth? The beacons in the storm?

Let me say this, they are gazing into the mirror.