In the abrupt disintegration of the space shuttle it is difficult not
to notice some mythical reverberations related to this moment.
In the best--and most innocent--of cases, we remember the flight
of Icarus, whose approximation to the sun caused his wax wings to melt.
Pride exhibited as a tragic flaw has had a record run in theaters
and churches without diminishing its likelihood as the deadly sin
of choice for most of us, and especially for our leaders.
Pride displayed as arrogance is singularly ascendant in this
moment--an arrogance which simply dismisses prudence and
caution as symptoms of weakness.
Several prominent figures have recently revealed that from behind
the curtain of arrogance of the US government a small, naked figure
--reminiscent of MAD’s Alfred E. Newman, but without his innocence
—spews an amplified tirade of moral superiority (sic) and military right
to control the planet’s resources to an audience more convinced daily
that they aren’t in Kansas anymore. I would like to hope that the voices
of John LeCarré, Jimmy Carter and especially Nelson Mandela will be
given the weight of reason that they merit.
In the midst of all these apocalytpic shenanagins, Raven appears
to be in love. At least yesterday he brought a smaller raven
with him when he came to visit me in the garden. Which reminds me
that when the amps go up on messages of hate, we shouldn’t stop loving.