crack of the whip

CRACK OF THE WHIP

 

Inspired to fit in and go along with the crowd or herd, I need to belong and join the wave of motion that comes with an abrupt sound that comes out of nowhere, be quick on my feet and survive the first round of consequences that come when the early warning system works perfectly well, and there is this suspicion that what comes next is quick and startling.  And so I find it easy to extract from yesterday’s news and happenings.




 A gun shot.  Crack of the Whip and a blood curdling sound that stands hair on end, and before you know it, there is a lock-down, or a gathering of livestock, or if caught on camera, was verified as people running.  " Run for it."  But not before you know where you are going with this blog, or with your handling of thunder and steel nerves that follow the line of the barrel, with force and outcome that leaves you out of breath and somewhat exhausted.  And so it is, I watch the replay of video taken.  Gun shots or Crack of the Whip I can not distinguish, but with further review and knowing that I was standing in front of a frontier museum, gathering dust and waiting for the show to begin, harmless as sunlight absorbed in a bundle of hay, the idea of this being more than an ordinary occurrence, did not occur to me.    And when I saw the crowd moving, I followed.

Each day the wheels turn and I find myself farther and farther from the city of origination, where I have belonged in blue surge suits of the expensive caliber.  Those days are over.  But to say I have exchanged the Robe of City Conference for blue jeans and all-weather-hat and a bull whip or sword of slaughter, would be wrong.  Yes, its true.  I have moved on.  Yesterday’s war is today’s peace of mind.  I have left the business wars and cultural strife of wards and alleys, bustling with people and taxis and garbage trucks, behind.  Moving into the rural hemisphere of cart and horse and the crack of the whip, am ready for a new understanding, without the wound or scarred flesh that comes with the sound of thunder or flash of light.  Looking around and seeing limited movement and a handful of   people, changes my expectation. 



Tourist in the sense that I need to pay somebody to guide me into this experience.  Outsider in the sense that tomorrow I will be somewhere else, seeking service and pleasure of another brand and sort.  Spectator in the sense I have gas and wheels and it is obvious I am not here to work, but rather to consume and take what might be offered or in reach.  And it all comes to that one moment when I hear the crack of a whip or the sound of gun shot, and I asked myself.   "Am I safe."

I look around and it seems to be over before we know it.  Civil obedience and we begin to go our own way.  Haven’t registered the facts that come with the late night news.  Likely to be somewhere by night fall, it is told that only one body was found at the scene and around the block, somewhere inside another.  So not sure what happened.  Limit body count.  Crack of the Whip or Gun Shot.  Wild West or way too far north for me, I seem limited as to what can be said next.  So we move along.  Don’t really talk about it.  War and Peace.  Am I safe. 



 

And for the moment I just want to find some water, quench my thirst, find something or somebody to entertain me.  Fill the hours of my day.  Make me happy in that special way that comes with knowing, we were spectators.  Not really part of the show.  Bought a ticket.  Paid a fee.  Assembled and Attended to.  Parliamentary Procedure.  An ordered response done in an ordinary way.  Crack of the Whip.  Ringing of the Bell.  And we move along together.   One step at a time.  Expecting peace and a good time, we never really see the body or the outcome of something totally wrong.  Instead, we are here to see the show.  And when its over, most of us go home or somewhere else.  Over before we know it,  and I am less anxious and curious now.  Crack of the Whip or Gun Shot.   I don’t want to know.