Searching for Civilization
“It was
the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilization ends at the shoreline.
Beyond that, we all enter the food chain and not always right at the
top.”
Hunter S.
Thompson
I confess to you, that
when I first read this quote by the late Hunter S. Thompson, I
wondered on which side of the shoreline civilization ended. Clearly,
we are still trying to establish it on the dry side. That said,
however, the sea is its own master, and all who enter there are
subjects of an impartial God. Screw up and you're done. I remember,
when I was a young woman, taking one step into the surf on the Outer
Banks of North Carolina and having the rip-current yank my feet out
from under me. I hit hard and was rolled down the beach by the waves. I was embarrassed, to say the least. Mother Nature is a powerful woman, and she doesn't care what your
credentials are or who your family may be.
I watched a young hawk
catch a bird this morning. It pursued relentlessly until it's talons
closed around the small body and squeezed. Normally, that would be
hard for me to watch, but I realize that hawks have to eat, too—it's
the Law of the Dry Land. Survival comes to the fastest, the most
determined, the most ruthless. Sounds cold, doesn't it? But, it's
just a little pinch of reality. Perhaps I'm getting more ruthless
myself.
Hunter Thompson also
wrote, “I learned a long time ago that reality was much weirder
than anyone's imagination.” Southern folks know this truth
better than most, I think. Honestly, the tales told here are truly
things you could not make up if somebody paid you. That story of the festive funeral for the frozen cat that I wrote about some months ago is a
case in point. I have some friends who grew up in 8-Mile, Alabama.
They tell weird stories all the time—one about a man hanging
himself in his barn, and his relatives complaining about the clothes
he chose to wear for his last desperate act—overalls, rather than
something decent in which to meet his Maker. I'm pretty sure the Almighty gave him some demerits for that one. One family member sang
“Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,” at her auntie's funeral—not
your typical somber funereal hymn of departure. Another relative has
a guest bedroom with multiple tinseled Christmas trees in it, lit all
year long—makes for some difficult, albeit jolly, sleeping. The
heat and humidity down here elevate the weirdness factor by a bunch.
As one who is most assuredly not at the
top of the food chain, whether on ocean or dry land, I caution you to
take care of yourself. There are lots of hungry sharks around, and
not all of them have fins. Forgive my weird humor today—I know it's
not spiritual, but a little levity is good for the soul.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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