Swing
- Day 16
My mother mounts
me into the junior swings; I am too big already for them. She has my toddler sisters already mounted
with the safety bar pulled down over the chain in a box seat. She pushes gently and sets the whole thing in
motion.
For me, she
lifts me into the bigger kid swings and teaches, instructs, hold on, move your
legs forward, backward, and then leaves me to my own device as she returns to
the baby.
I am getting the
hang of it and moving back and forth and looking across the bare dusty
playground up towards the mill tower and its clock. It bellows a chime on some hour. I notice the noise and its direction but do
not yet know what time is or even what a clock is.
Time is the
thing, isn’t it? We all only have so
much of it and we use it. There is no
user manual. Do we have to use it right?
Somewhere along
the timeline, some holy man or philosopher or celibate in an ivory tower
started the leisure time question regarding the quality of life thing.
The average
human for centuries had just lived, hunted, gathered, foraged, survived. Just lived. Then died.
Then these
clowns come along and ask about the quality and meaning of life.
Useless facts to
the average dude and dudette. Dogma
forming. Cottage industries.
Cathedrals. M.I.T.!
Somewhere along
the timeline, they made up a set of rules to get into paradise, heaven, the
afterlife.
Well I am here
and all your dogma and questions just suck, suck, suck.
I have to write
my own user manual here in stage two of my life.
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