Occasionally I Contemplate Murder 16
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he problem of peace is somewhat similar to that of Heaven and Hell. It's almost a question of semantics:
The word 'war' is filled with forceful meaning. Gory detail and what the Hollywood movie industry calls special effects.
'Peace', on the other hand, is merely a negation, a very passive thing. The way the word works in our minds, it could easily be substituted by 'un-war'.
War and no war.
And no wonder, war becomes such an obsession in the minds of both those who claim it's needed, for one or other noble cause, and those who deplore it unconditionally.
Yes, it's an obsession of most minds as well as societies, which are in essence nothing but the manifestations of our minds.
We find it impossible, at length, not to indulge in war.
A number of writers complied with poems, short stories and such, where war was to be completely obliterated. Only the priceless bliss of peace, in one or other aspect, was to be depicted.
Frankly, what not waking up is like, I have no idea.
Without the contrasting side of war, no writer could bring attraction to his tale. Myself also, I failed in my little piece. I needed the contrast — although unspoken — of not waking up at all, to make the awakening sweet enough.
It would be like trying to make a drawing in only white, they explained. No black at all. What kind of drawing would that be?
War is war. Peace is fabulous peace.
The failure of the writers was not the unavoidable consequence of a paradox. It was a failure of their insufficient artistry. Peace should not be judged by this. The writers, the poor guys, should.
Although we frequently forget, we are but human. Some artistic feats seem to demand more than that.
One thing, wherein the solution to this problem lies:
In beauty hides — yes, hides — the greatest attraction of peace. And beauty can be one hell of a special effect.
No, it's not strange.
Regular human wars have much shorter life spans in the awareness of the human mind, than the Armageddon would. Thus, we rapidly forget the torments of war, and tend to long for something — anything — to take us out of the drab monotony of everyday life.
Soon enough, we get just that. Anything.
A fool of that kind, though, need not feel lonesome.
That mother we call Nature, is both a colossal donor and collector of lives. Just as we'd like to regard ourselves.
Our bomb is mighty, all right, and makes a devastating noise — but compared to a modest size typhoon, or an earthquake far from record peaks on the Richter scale, it's still a petty thing.
In the perspective of such magnificence, we're still in kindergarten. Although we'd like to believe that we're advancing rapidly in our development, we've got a long way to go before we accomplish anything equally lethal. Fortunately.
We're all mere hunters and prey. To eat or to be eaten. Nobody can escape these gladiator games. The rules of the games sure mock the one who nobly lowers his sword, just to be swiftly decapitated and served as his enemy's supper.
Well, were this sacrifice really the moral demand of the Gods, then they must have anticipated a rapid extinction of those pure at heart — leaving the less compassionate beasts guilty, and their bellies full.
Some people claim that the law should stretch further than that. Vegetarians often state that the reason for banishing all the fauna from their plates, is the immorality of killing things alive. Creatures who live and can register pain.
They live, for sure, which is proven by the change they go through, when not sufficiently watered. Some say, after attaching them to — of all things — lie-detectors, that they perceive their surroundings and feel pain, just like animals do.
Maybe the only difference between flora and fauna is the manner of their communication. For one thing, plants are much slower.
Fruits would be acceptable, I guess. They are what plants produce, just for the sake of others eating them — as long as the nuts are not consumed.
No nut, no core.
What goes for the universe as a whole, that the quantity of energy must always be the same, is equally true for man. What energy I consume, by keeping my temperature and walking about, I have to win back. Where I take my energy from — that's of no importance.
The prospect of living on pills, on vitamins and proteins purely factory-made, is not altogether disgusting. Living without needing to kill, just by mixing this and that chemical substance together. Artificially, as we say. Why not?
Maybe one day we will.
God, of course.
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I'm a Swedish author of fiction and non-fiction books in both Swedish and English. I'm also an artist, an historian of ideas and a 7 dan Aikikai Shihan aikido instructor. Click the header to read my full bio.