“What shall we do tomorrow? … What shall we ever do?”

T.S. Eliot

+ + +

Consciousness.  Narration.  Competent observation.

One wonders if we can realize when we are on difficult terrain?  Would we comprehend it if an unwanted child became the father of the land?

What happens when a culture suffers a spiritual vertigo, an inability to tell up from down, head from heel?  Is not the obvious unspoken as if we are all inoculated with a dreadful amnesia?  As such is the public speaker not more the agent of confusion?  Is silence not then a safe haven?  So too solitude?

Spiritual vertigo.  No capacity for serious self-examination.  We cannot see – too many mirrors and too many costumes.  In such a place gentle suggestiveness is lost, but more the case we are blind to Mystery.  The Galilean parables are beyond our grasp.  Assembled prayer becomes murmur without meaning – the words unemployed, on the shelf – undisturbed, out of play, pristine and unused. Reverent hearts silenced by ideological assertions.

Where is the wryly observer?  Can we miss banalities, stupidities and blows fatal to the soul?  Can humor be lost as in the gulag state?

What shall we do then “smart” is not “good” and isn’t even smart … and surely not wise, or courageous or savvy?

What shall we ever do when “God as man” is forgotten and man as god emerges? Man as god: spiritual vertigo – man as clown, buffoon, deviant child.  Down as up. Up as down.  Incoherence reigns.  Force commands.  Hope fades.  Life lost.

” … What shall we ever do?”