The Dreamer Who Forgot What He Used To Dream

The Dreamer Who Forgot What He Used To Dream


He awoke, confused. He surveyed himself and found that some parts

were familiar but that many others were new, of unknown function.


How can this be, he asked himself? I used to know myself as the sum

of my parts, but now I’m not sure if that comfortable rule still applies.


I still see and hear and taste and smell, but now odours and flavours

and sounds and views don’t seem to be as sharp as they used to be.


He tried to recall the dreams that had brought him to himself through

fearful, painted visions of love and loss. Now they were out of reach.


Are the new functions designed to quell hopes and despair, he asked

himself? The answer came as the echo of a thought learned, finally:


“No, The new functions have brought you freedom from memories

of ravaged minds and hearts, they have come at equanimity’s behest.”


“Those old memories were condensed into essence; they were nothing

more than the effects of learning to be, and that was never easy.”

No One’s Laughing About It

No One’s Laughing About It


I am reminded, as we begin this new year, that I, like most,

have been taught to cast my view forward with new resolutions

for peace, forgiveness, and hope as we look ahead to changes.


But this year is different than any in my memory. To talk

about times like these we’d usually need to find really old

people, revered as survivors of man’s inhumanities to other

men, women and children; to speak and bear witness to the

murders and despicable acts of hatred against ‘the others’

who had been loathed and made to suffer and disappear for

differences of skin colour, race, nationality, sexuality or

religious beliefs in those hard, frightening times of old

they would describe with voices that trembled.


Now it seems there is a new threat to harmony among us.

There is a force of division and hatred to stand up to with

the fury of our making in these times too. But instead of

indulging in fear and worry, know that this time we can

be the architects of our own salvation, if only we resist.


We can look back at the records and see the things that should

have been done. We can see what should have happened to

prevent the atrocities from ever beginning. If we can overcome

apathy and the distrusts of these times and organize, we can

defeat the forces of ignorance, greed, hatred and intolerance.


We must march. We must boycott products produced by

haters. We must lend our voices to truth and deny liars

any air. We must hide those in danger of being deported.


We must use technology to strike blows against racism.

We must participate in work stoppages to hobble the

greedy whose only directive is exploitation of workers.

We must hacktivate and create methods of stopping a

cruel 1984-style war-dystopia from ever becoming a

permanent reality that will be the only legacy that we

bequeath to defenseless offspring who deserve better.