All of the Brethren know what it is like to get whopped up side the head with a big branch of the old Irony Tree. It is like the time that a Brother, after scrimping and saving, manages to get a new set of tires on the family car. Two days later, someone totals the car. The Brother walks away unscathed, and is thankful for it, don't you know, but the rig goes away and with it, the new rubber. You know that the Insurance Downpressor, he doesn't give a hoot about those new tires when he writes out that skimpy settlement check. That rubber could have lasted two more days and that $ 600 might still be in a pocketbook closer to hand.
Once upon a time, a truly remarkable friend and I were mulling over the existence of the working person's irony, and the occasional poundings that were dished out as a result. Like many a wiser feller and feller-ette before us, across the sands of time, we decided that we would invent a cosmology to explain the origin of the regular ass-kicking that people take when they get too comfortable. I am sure, My Brethren, that you have experienced the ass-kick that I am referring too. It starts in hundred dollar increments, and goes up based on the seriousness of the wake-up call that an individual Sister or Brother has been courting.
What came of these mullings was the concept of the Universal Tool Shed, also know as the UTS. Now, when you picture the UTS, it can look like whatever one of the Brethren envision it to be. For our purposes, the UTS was a smallish wooden shed, a little dilapidated but in a trendy, Sunset magazine sort of way. Country Chic on the outside, pure Universal capriciousness on the inside. Vines were growing up the side of of it and it had a door that had to be lifted slightly to get it to open. Inside the UTS, however, were big, heavy, blunt instruments waiting to be wielded by the ever watchful Universe.
Now this is where one can fill in any sort of deity one wishes because, after all, its just a cosmology. Go crazy. For our version of the UTS, my friend and I posited, well, a Universe. The Universe, actually. The Universe has a very quirky sense of humour, delighting in meting out the proper reward for smugness, complacency or, even better, a lack of mindfulness. When, in its omnipotence, the Universe notes a particularly cocky individual needing a little wake-up smack, it saunters (the U never hurries) over to the shed, lifts the door open, and calmly peruses the options. Will it be a shovel, a spade, an ax handle? Perhaps a pickaroon or a pulaski? Small dalliances with lack of awareness might only require a bash with a broom, but Dog help the Brother or Sister who deserves the post-hole diggers.
Having been a somewhat regular recipient of lessons via the UTS, I now have a modicum of understanding about the workings of the U. If, for example, a lazy Brother, such as myself works hard to find a calm place in life, mercifully devoid of the opportunities for growth, well, the U has to intervene, does it not. If there is one thing the UTS cannot abide, its coasting. So, with an almost smirky little grin, just bordering on reluctance but not really, the UTS is utilized to dispense a fine whacking to said Brother, knocking him back into the stream of growth.
In our cosmology, The Universe is, indeed capricious, but only because it knows better than we. It sees us when were sleeping, it knows when we're awake. There is an air of benevolence, a strong sense of righteous "this-is-for-your-own-good" type aura that surrounds The U just as it is wielding its blunt weapon of choice down upon our heads.
I have yet to evolve to the point of appreciating the smack of something heavy out of the UTS. But, these days, as I rub my noggin, I can recognize the sign of a master at work. It is only through awareness that I can hope to evade the Downpressor and his snares of consumerism. And it is only through a heightened group awareness that we can work together to defeat the Downpressor, rather than just eluding him. It is nice to know that, anymore, I won't be asleep at the wheel too long before I will feel the loving touch of the UTS, banging me back to consciousness.
Meanwhile Sisters and Brothers, Be Awake, Be Strong, and Strike a Blow!
No comments:
Post a Comment