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Too Much with Us
 The World is too much with us - over and under, wide and thin - still a giant ball that doesn’t seem to run off the court like a bad serve. We all seem to think we know it all, can make it what we want it to be, and somehow, little moments squeeze in now and then to give each of us - whatever our style, our vocabulary, our thoughts, our longing in hunger, and not forgotten our attention, our charge to make something what we want it to be. And somewhere in there, is Our God who put the thing together in the first place, and yet, brilliant as it was written in the Genesis of the Bible, just doesn’t seem to be real or leveling anymore. Things seem to have gotten confused, abused, banging on things so that it’s ME and not anyone else who gets the glory or the joy or own thoughts, when really the world should be shared with all - AND with happiness and joy and love - not like some lotteries, but like getting what we deserve and understanding what it means or meant at the time when we discovered life, love and happiness, if that still exists in these days in all parts of the world.
Getting and coming and going and killing and robbing and hiding in and under rocks and trying to dodge anything that seems to be coming from someone else’s gun or whopper. No one cares anymore who one kills. It’s easy to toss memories and points into a pile. Who never thinks about families being affected if they have any children. Really at one point, the confused person was a good honest person, but he or she started walking down the streets of crime, of violence, of incarnation unearned but maybe robbed to look good. Some who carries a gun or a dagger because, who knows, nothing is divine, no one tests a friendly soul without a weapon, and one must dash in and out of a quick type of whop to stay in control at least for the moment.
Today I spent the day doing errands. It’s so hard to get connected to the huge cars and trucks on a three-lane highway and still drive straight to where one goes, whether looking or not looking at the scenery if you are the driver. It’s tempting, especially when there is a stack of red to purple leaves already crisply fallen to the autumn ground, the blower champing at the bet getting ready to blow them into oblivious death and then the blowers arrive with giant, giant, plastic bags the mortuary of the plant last spit on the
It is so important to be kind to others, to smile, or even say at least a bland “hello” as one passes. There are rewards. Like feeding 40 workers on a dangerous, and almost heroic job to repair a 11-story combo that had been around a few decades, built quickly by Kemmons Wilson. The bricks became suspect - maybe they’d start falling off the walls of the building, so the construction company, one of the tops - brought in 40 men and a couple of women then more and more, who have no fear of climbing outside or inside of long pathways they have made and steps after they have made an almost city for the workers, who at some point began chipping away the old bricks.
Of course life in these here parts are not quite as easy or orderly but, hay, a little noise will wake up the late sleepers and the joy that seems to be among the Latinos - from Guatemala, Mexico, you name the country - and they are the best of the best risking lives 11 stories high just to break down and discard all the bricks that have been there for decades, i.e. since put there. , so we sit back and give a big sigh because truly, we are in good hands, whether on the right side or the left side of this giant structure. They got us. They know what they have to do. It’s their life’s calling. Yes, they too have families who might be a little antsy when their husband or dad get such a huge job as this dangerous job - and the risky climbs and swings and shout outs are not as simple as taking a kid to a baseball game (of curse the Latinos are great baseball and soccer players - some of the best worldwide.) We chat now and then about Uruguay - who just slaughtered Argentina at the last soccer game - and that is a miracle if there ever was one. My husband won’t come down from the heavens because He is so happy of the victory, say, last night.
It seems my hometown, the one my grandfather and father and brother helped to make firm and prosperous, has spattered everything against a dead wall, and no one pays attention to righteousness or holiness or respect or even hard work to make something work better just by the people gathering and making things come true. We cannot win everything in our deep south, but we also cannot let it pop apart and be a nothing, rather than something that has growth potential. It’s funny how things work. I finally had to give up my ancient Fendi carry on suitcase - it is just weary and cannot be improved after about 25 years. I worried about it not being of service anymore and I had purchased a REI roller. And for some reason, it has been a super day in Miami, for instance. the art fair, which I’ve never been to, but my granddaughter and her friends insisted we scan the giant barns of art to see what we liked or did not like. It all seems so weird to me, and the only art things that seem to catch my eye were those written or created by very powerful African American artist - creative art.
~ Rev
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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com
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