OT, HOGS: If something being true at one level of the universe makes it true on every other level, and if it is also true that everything has a life cycle whether animal, tree, or rock, then it must be likewise true that civilizations flourish and die. We are seeing the signs of an aging civilization and only some extreme civilization-wide conflagration could produce the ashes required to give birth to a new and revitalized culture.
The other day I mentioned the Weimar Republic, which gave rise to one of the most extreme regimes in history. While there are important differences, the parallels are distinct enough that only the ignorant would ignore the signs and not consider the consequences. The root cause of ignorance is ignoring the obvious.
Unfortunately I can't think of any New World left offering refuge with these kind words: "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free." There is no wilderness deep enough in which to hide or give birth to something better.
I will close with a poem by W.B. Yeats, written in 1919. A few key lines:
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Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
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Ted
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Complete poem by W.B Yeats:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?