A couple of months back I made a deal with myself, a compact of sorts, one in which I promised to enjoy no less than two hours every morning in a realm completely FREE of both politics AND every other human foible — not an easy task in this screwy corner of this screwy world. Still, I had the means at hand: climb on the old bicycle each morning at ten minutes before sunrise, duly outfitted with a bottle of cold water, a pack of gum, tire tool/patch kit and pump, cell phone (and insurance card) just in case I get run over by a pickup, and most important of all, my camera. The goal: twenty miles of riding plus as many photo captures of whatever Nature might care to toss my way.
So far, so good: 1270 miles since June 1 (67 days, 19 mpd avg) plus a huge pile of jpg’s. And NO POLITICS!! Until the other day, that is. The only blessing was that it wasn’t me or any other human that splayed the political bombshell on my lens. Nope, it was Mother Nature herself (and my guess is that she really had no idea what she’d done, no evil intent of any kind — or so I HOPE!).
Here’s the way it went. I took off at around 5:50 AM, MDT, and over the course of two hours ran across some interesting stuff, all courtesy of Mother Nature. First, the early morning illumes over and upon our local lake:
Next, a very happy bug enjoying his early morning floral soliloquy:
And then another very happy bug doing the same:
And next a lesson, one in which Nature demonstrated (with a wee bit o’ help from moi) that no matter how crazy, how disoriented the world might appear, nothing ‘out there’ ever really changes. Note that even when ‘the world’ is turned upside down, the sun still illuminates, the morning sky remains a vibrant blue, the mountains forever stand tall, and the weeds don’t seem to mind if they happen to be pointing down instead of up. What a Grand Place exists ‘out there’! What a Wondrous World it is!
Then it happened. About a mile or two on down the road, suddenly up popped the big UH OH! Out of the corner of my eye I spotted him. He was standing alone and peacefully munching the luscious and rain-fed grass in yonder pasture. I watched him with some admitted fascination for several minutes until somewhere in the process it struck me: I was gazing at the metaphoric personification of humankind’s behavioral dilemma, cryptically disguised as –
A Pasture Bull!
Ah yes, the Pasture Bull! Fortunately, he was well inside his domain’s (electrified) fence line so I had no need to worry that he might mistake me for either a cow or an evil Matador. Nor did I have to try sneak up to get a close-up — thank all gods for the zoom lens!
Got home, pulled the photo up on the screen and . . . well, suddenly it all came back and brought to mind some words I’d written several years ago, a paragraph that wound up in my book concerning political conspiracies and power struggles amongst those generally mean-spirited buffoons who suffer under far far too many false impressions of their earthly and cultural import (think Cheney, Dubya, Putin, Reagan, Nixon, Krushchev, . . . Napoleon? Sure, why not. The list is endless):
“There are those who see themselves as gods of one sort or another, . . . and they’re not unique to only our modern world. History amply demonstrates. Personally, I see them–each and every one of them–as being nothing more than a manifestation of a genetic carryover of some sort, a trait inherited from certain of our evolutionary predecessors. I mean, take your ordinary pasture bull as an example. He has no intellect, nothing between his ears beyond the instinctive knowledge of what he has to do to have his way with the rest of the herd. But I have a dollar that says the meaner the bull, the more godlike he’d see himself as being–IF only he could think. It’s probably a blessing that he can’t. Think. Too bad some of our own species’ bulls aren’t similarly blessed. I mean, if they were only the mental equivalent of a pasture bull, we could simply shoo them into a corral, lock the gate, and let them bellow. No such luck, though. We elect them, crown them, anoint them, bow before them, die for them, make them rich, famous. Why is that, I wonder? Been wondering that most of my life, actually.”
I have to wonder: why does all of that — the words, the photo — bring to mind the word “Teabagger”? Maybe because it all . . . ummm . . . so perfectly defines them, describes their ultimate fantasies? Ah, well, who can really say, y’ know?
Anyway, ponder that issue for a moment or two; allow your mind to create a mental image that melds Pasture Bull with Teabagger and then take a peek at the (unattributed) photo below, followed by a quick read of the handful of what seem to be appropriate and descriptive quotes:
“Political liberty, the peace of a nation, and science itself are gifts for which Fate demands a heavy tax in blood!”
“Narrow minds can develop as well through persecution as through benevolence; they can assure themselves of their power by tyrannizing . . . others.”
“Nature makes only dumb animals. We owe the fools to society.”
“There’s nothing so fearsome as the revolt of a sheep . . .”
Those tidbits of descriptive wisdom are all courtesy of 19th century French novelist and playwright, Honoré de Balzac; interesting how appropriately his words work to describe today’s American Tea Party. What’s even more satisfying, however, is that the words do NOT describe the behavior or passions of even the most aggressive pasture bull — means that Mark Twain was right in his thesis that mankind has descended from the higher animals! Seems to me, too, that allathat stands as proof positive that every Teabagger everywhere is therefore definable as INFERIOR to each and every pasture bull, given that when compared with their eternally unsavory human mimics, each and every pasture bull automatically becomes a gentle and fair-minded critter!
Yet one more win for Mother Nature! And better yet, my “One Day in the Life of an August” was NOT unduly interrupted by political . . . by political what . . . by political Bullcookies maybe?
Actually, watching that bull do his thing was so far more interesting than watching, say, the Gohmert-Bachmann-King triumverate trying to do THEIR non-thing that I think maybe the bull deserves some name recognition. Were it up to me, in fact, I’d name him Honoré de Balzac! He’s clearly earned it! 😀