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Tuesday, November 24, 2009

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE DANCE OF THE MEAT PUPPETS





Written by: Rick Staggenborg, MD on Jul 24, 2009 5:21 AM PDT



With love, to Anne Feeney and her friends.


Have you ever tried to dance to one of those complicated rock tunes where the rhythm and the beat change all the time? You find yourself eventually stopping and standing there, trying to guess what comes next so you can start dancing again. It’s kind of funny to watch the dancers who keep trying to dance to the original rhythm, oblivious to the constant changes of the tune. Eventually, they become dimly aware that they are out of step and slow down, trying to catch up. When you realize this, it is enough to send you into stitches. It begins to look like the funeral march of the marionettes.

Congress reminds me a lot of that image, except they all started out dancing to different tunes, depending on what elements of the discord they listened to. If only they had a better DJ, who would play them a simple tune they all could follow. I think it would be cool if someone would call in to hear “The Star Spangled Banner.” The music might subconsciously remind them of the compelling reason they came to the dance. They don’t seem to realize that, like Shiva, the dance they make has effects that reverberate on another plane, creating or destroying life according to the moves they choose to make.

Once you get this, it seems funny until you realize that the dancers are not choosing their own steps, and the cosmic events determined by the Ironic Butterfly effect are threatening to destroy the planet. Anyone reading this far knows by now that the puppet masters who pull the strings are themselves unaware of what they are doing, as they were created by men and now control the masses in the name of “security.” 

National security is doublespeak for anything that the corporate puppet masters believe will secure their interests. What they don’t understand is that the artificial intelligence that they have created in the form of corporations is programmed to survive at any costs. They failed to read Asimov and did not program into their soulless creations the Three Laws of Robotics that would protect them from their own selfish designs.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could pull the strings for a change, like we did briefly after the American Revolution? It is a damned shame that at the moment of our rebirth we were forced by the need to work together for our survival that we didn’t have time to work out the little problem of slavery. We might have eventually achieved the Christian ideal of creating a Heaven on Earth and avoided God’s wrath in the form of the American Civil War. 

If Americans had been good enough and wise enough to renounce the sin of slavery on their own, they might have found the strength of character to avoid the massacre of Native Americans. They could have chosen not to join in the cynical “war to end all wars,” thereby avoiding WWII and the perhaps the spread of communism. 

Had our forefathers foreseen how soon we would forget why we chose to fight the evil of a class system inevitably favoring the aristocracy, they would have realized the need to heed Jefferson’s warning about the dangers of unchecked corporate power and of the need for a confiscatory income tax to avoid the rise of an American economic aristocracy that inevitably looks out only for its own perceived interest.

Wouldn’t it be nice if someone tapped each of the meat puppets on their shoulders and got their attention, then showed them the steps so that they could all join in a more beautiful dance? Imagine the effects if we all danced to the same tune. Surely, Shiva would smile that he had done his work so well that he could now relax and enjoy the ever changing beauty of the dance of his creation.












In the immortal words of Jackson Browne:


Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
and the slow parade of fears without crying,
now I want to understand.


I have done all that I could
to see the evil and the good without hiding.
You must help me if you can.


Doctor my eyes,
tell me what is wrong.
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?
'Cause I have wandered through this world
and as each moment has unfurled,
I’ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams.


People go just where there will,
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
that its later than it seems.


Doctor my eyes,
tell me what you see
I hear their cries.
Just say if it’s too late for me.


Doctor my eyes,
I cannot see the sky.
Is this the prize for having learned how not to cry?






Rick Staggenborg, MD


Soldiers For Peace International


Coos Bay, OR

1 comment:

  1. This was probably the easiest essay I have written to date. The words seemed to leap off the keys after I conceived of the Senate process as a dance of marionettes whose actions were the result of having their strings pulled by the players in the shadows offstage.

    While the reality is not so funny, I hope that readers find the images humorous enough that they can laugh at the very real danger in which we find our democracy. Laughter is indeed the best medicine and I hope that it heals our minds and spirits so that we can continue to fight the American Revolution with confidence and hope.

    ReplyDelete

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