Planet Loco

People talk or write to feed each other. What? It has been special to me to have a friend who cannot share with me any words in my only language. Most friends talk very much. That is what people think friendship to be. Text. Email. Telephone. Facebook. Conversing.

Someone told me about a time when her mother died of cancer while she was pregnant with her first child. Many people said, both before and after the death, “I am so sorry for your loss. I know how painful it must be for you. Move to our neighborhood. We want to be close by to help you and care for you and the baby.” After the funeral, she said, not one of those people ever called or came to see her or gave any help. What kind of nourishment is that? Words of a learned language? Just words. It reminds me of the fisherman who pretends to feed a fish and his hook. Or the monkey who pulled a fish out of the water and placed it safely in a tree. Or a politician whose barfed up promises are leftovers. Or, teachers on the first day of class who know nothing but words, words, words, having never themselves lived. Or parents who reply, Because I said so. Or, religious clergy who tell us to believe them because truth is beyond our ability to comprehend. What world is this one? Surely, it is not the only one we can experience this life time. Is it?

Am I never going to meet anyone here who understands me? A clown standing in the moonlight upside down bouncing a globe with her feet winked at me and I interpreted the meaning as: there are more things here than you yet know.