THE WHISPER OF OLD GHOSTS…

“I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play.” – Jethro Tull, Old Ghosts, Stormwatch

Here is a samskara made sacrament, filial piety made foolish, and the use of history as a method to instill fear rather than provide a cautionary tale to learn from.

We are told that we require old ghosts to whisper in our ears: left to our own devices, we shall inevitably fail: that unless we pay heed to the dead letters of our forbears, the flames shall crackle, and brimstone will sear our nostrils.

There is much to be learned from history. Santiago’s oft-repeated aphorism springs to mind. But Time, like knowledge, is like a river flowing – the eddies change, the banks narrow or widen, and nothing is ever the same as it was before.

But the course of the river has changed – it alters even as you read this. The topology has undergone that one immutable fact of our existence: change.

We build on the past, longing toward the future, our palates wettened by the present. We are in some respects, beholden to the past: it gives structure, it provides foundation, it gives us a small insight into what has gone before, and patterns of predictability to ease the journey.

But blind obeisance? Never. Forgone rules of ancestral worship writ large? They must go into the dustbins of history. Inequality? There should be none. Elitism? It is a level playing field for one and all, unless there is harm inferred and harm incurred. Water seeks its own level.

So close the ear to the whisper of old ghosts – they are but the illusions spun by men as they crouched ‘round the campfire, giving their own faces to the sounds outside the circle of light.

The campfires are gone, in most places, replaced by orbs of light. Those who fear the darkness build walls – let the masonry built by ancient tomes come crumbling downward.

It is, as I have illustrated before, only natural that humanity ascends. So up we go. Into the light.

And it is okay to watch the old gods play. I do it all the time. I simply just enjoy the dancing of wraiths insubstantial. But by no means shall I join the waltz – I seek that more novel of approaches: that of reality.

Till the next post then.

“In the wee hours I’ll meet you
Down by dun ringill ---
Oh, and we’ll watch the old gods play
By dun ringill.” - Jethro Tull, Dun Ringill, Stormwatch