One of the curses of this time, this post modern era, is the idea that the definition of a word, or a thing, or an idea is entirely the possession of the one who uses it. In rejecting the idea of any common truth, or even a standard whereby truth may be discerned, we live in a post tower of Babel world of our own creating, speaking multiple languages and living in mutual incomprehensibility.
I wonder about the day when the ordinary business of human affairs becomes clouded by all of this, when people decide to ignore the normal courtesies that help us get from point A to point B because they don’t fit within their current construct. Will what has happened to art, already in the throes of its deconstruction, become life? Perhaps it already has.
I wonder, as well, what will become of the world when we start to realize, again, that nature in itself has its own truth, its own limits and definitions beyond which even the most technological cultures cannot proceed. How painful will it be to rediscover what we have ignored, that there is a cadence, principals, and laws worked into the very cells of the universe that can be pushed and redefined in some false hope but never overcome. What terrible agony will proceed the coming sanity?
It seems in these days we have each chosen not to join together to build one tower to heaven but rather for each of us to build our own in the belief that God either doesn’t notice or perhaps even affirms the project. The results, though, will be the same.
The Beautiful Path 