There is a land not far away. The land of the grey. Just around that bend.
Grey men live in grey houses, thinking grey thoughts all day long in Greyland.
They eat grey meals and drink grey beer and make merry at a game of grey on grey.
Philosophy is sport in the land of grey. Incessant is the argument of the merits of grey and being grey, much better grey than black or white. They can’t change their stripes. Dogmatic are the black and white. Dogmatic to a fault. Shades of grey are much more tolerant and see life for what it really is, an endless sea of grey.
Greyland is content and the great day of grey is fast approaching. Many visitors are expected for great grey festivities. From far and wide will they roam. Some say even the Opaque might come.
On the day of days a man like no other came. A man of strange and bewildering appearance. What manner of grey is he? He is not black or white, certainly not opaque. Strangeness upon strangeness.
Technicolor man strode about in technicolor brilliance. Confusing and befuddling where he went.
Some grey men could not see him for all his color. He was too far from grey.
The grey authorities saw him causing puzzlement, disturbing the unity of grey. Contentment was in danger. The grey men had to act.
Technicolor man will be buried at the first grey of dawn.
This morning I took my wife to work. Traffic, as usual, was very busy and it was more of a stop-and-go arrangement rather than a swift and decisive drive.
The last part of the journey took us past a cemetery to our left. It is beautiful, small and recessed headstones, luscious lawns, well kept small hedges and a blue sky and sparkling sunlight to boot.
That was on our left.
On our right we see the legions emerging from the underground railway station into the blinding light. They assemble into shambling cohorts and trudge along miserably, already knowing the shape and circumstance of their day. No joy, no surprises there.
It seems odd that the near living should be in a position to envy the finitely dead. I look left again and think that I would probably prefer to bask in the sun – even under the lawn.
It is clear that most of the undead on the right in their pale imitation of life think similar thoughts if they are still able to.
Where did we go so wrong?
I am lucky.
I am married to the woman I love.
Our Valentine’s day today (or evening to be more precise), essentially consists of her nursing me back to health. I had dental surgery – unpleasant at the best of time – but this time I was in real agony.
I am thinking of all the souls out there who are still seeking love, of those who found it and lost it, of those who have not found it and most of all, of those who do not know they need to look for and find it.
We could have our Valentine’s day on the dark side of the moon or at a bus stop, it would not matter. We would be together.
I hope that you will find love if you have not already done so. Real love, which is a mixture of caritas, eros and philia.
Don’t stop looking.
As I sit here beavering away for the man, and yes I am on a break, just in case you are wondering, I cannot help but think that we all labouring to no discernible end.
Truly, what difference do most of us make? Since that difference cannot be made in our working lives, let’s try to make a difference in our private lives. Kindness will echo through the community and society at large.
We do not have to get angry when we get cut off in traffic, we could let someone else take our seat on the bus or train, we could say ‘Good morning’ more often and mean it.
Like I said – just small things.
Here is smiling at you, babe.