How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, and how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
( Bob Dylan-1962)
Bob Dylan’s masterpiece protest song has always been among my favourites, even in its many incarnations around the world. This evening the lyrics came quietly to me as I contemplated a snapshot of today’s screaming media headlines: ISRAEL AIR STRIKE ON GAZA; DOZENS DIE IN IRAQ CULT CLASHES; BELGIANS KILLED IN YEMEN ATTACK; KENYA PROTESTS CLAIM 5 MORE LIVES; ETHIOPIA HOLDS “MANY WESTERNERS” and “THIRTEEN CONVICTED IN INDIA RIOT”. There were many more but I was too shellshocked to delve much further. It is not that I have not seen similar headlines over the years- it is just that today something in me shut down emotionally and refused to click into the usual mode of assimilating and understanding the desperation and repressed rage that ignite these events around the world.
For one fleeting minute, my somber appraisal of the human condition led me past the conveniently simplistic existentialist explanation and into a contemplation of a larger, cosmic evil as proposed by the Christian and Islamic fundamentalists. Maybe man is really a puppet being controlled by negative elements through his subconscious mind. For a few seconds it seemed to make sense.
But I did not dwell there very long; my soul felt violated by the abrasiveness of thinking.
I laid down my sword of prose for a while and went within the silence of myself. I could not be the self-righteous blogger writing up a storm of protest against man’s inhumanity to man or wax satirical about our slow descent into barbarism.
My spirit was tired and I felt hopeless. Maybe the gentle, peace-inspired poet I buried years ago in my subconscious is being reborn to take the place of the battle-worn scribe, the voice in the wilderness no one wants to hear anymore.
My realisation over the years is that very few people really care about this world or the downtrodden anymore. They are too busy trying to survive in a very scary world.
Today that realization finally hit home like a hammer on a flitting, sky blue butterfly. Now I am all cried out. My inner self searches for quiet detachment amidst the rubble of the futile quest for peace and justice for all. There is nothing left to say. I want to ask a thousand questions starting with “Why….” but there are no answers to be found anywhere…just collective fear and weariness woven into the age-old drama we call life.
Tomorrow I’ll be back on the road again throwing words at the wind. Tonight I need to listen to the silence in me.
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, and how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind….
