Just passing through another (figurative) Dodge

 

 

Just passing through another Dodge 

  

Video supplement:  https://clipchamp.com/watch/BW1qWWjDofq 

On a trajectory, on which I just became aware as more than personal trials and note worthy public interests stories of the past 68-plus years. It's as if I was a designated witness-to-be of these past seven-decades and was placed on the scene of the micro and the macro as the recorder of record.

People, no matter who they were to me in my past, have become footnotes. If I knew them intensely or in the acknowledgement of their existence in passing, they have become foot notes of those niches of time. No matter how close or how distant, they might as well be in a grave at Boot Hill, Dodge City Kansas than at Morningside-Oakwood Cemetary in Sorrycuse New York. They were, as Shakespeare noted in his time, ...players that strutted and fretted their hour upon the stage and are heard no more..' They were the 'stops along the way'.

  

Whatever drama there was in the moment, IT WAS THE SIDESHOW and 'the cover' for this role of witness for the 'Prosecutor of Time'. I'm saying prosecutor, because as much as Satan's role in 1 Job:7-10, there have been those who ARE NOT GUILTY, but NOT the 'innocent and blameless ones'. Those 'not guilty' have obliged themselves to be content with the trappings of this world. In doing so, they've relegated themselves to be the fungible disposables. And as was said in the above paragraph '..to strut and threat their hour upon the stage and be heard no more..' As such they have made themselves to be Time's  throw-a ways and dispensables as any piece of refuse. For this state of being they are the pawns and victims of a merciless fate which trades on them for whatever expedient current in logic with their own expedient life.

  

For those who haven't chosen to suffocate their compassion, even with cynical moralisms, they've come to appreciate the phenomena of dimensions exposed in the exhibitions of this bio-geosphere's alchemistry and metaphysics of synchronicity and serendipity. 'Things aren't random one-offs' but serial episodes in a chain of meaning gestating for some ultimate barely determinable ends. The collated aggregation of these phenomena form a pattern of association that tell a narrative that explains our vain-gloriousness to its superordinant processes.

 

As those of who have circumscribed the meaning of their existence to a contentment with the hunting and gathering of the trinkets of groveling aspirations, they are the callously manipulated widgets of the drama trappings in which they indulge. And they become no more than the attic collections of time that end up being carted away or sold for someone else's amusement.

 

It's in this ghostly presentation of degraded decay that I find them in my incidental returns to those old haunts and see how allegorically congruent they are to their literal comparisons. My shocked realization of insight of their entombment of themselves as crystalized in their space of time gives me, after a moment of remorse, an appreciation of my being the witness giving this retrospective testimony to all this. I am surely the default postmortem forensic witness swearing into evidence this damnable spectacle of a life-killing stasis.