THE BOOK OF DEBORAH INSPIRE-LESS

This purge was written during the throes of the pandemic in June 2020. Consider this as you read. So, as Deborah of old advised and judged from under a Palm tree. This Deborah will question and muse from a nearby Juniper, hoping its alluring scent will inspire.

The name of this treatise says it all. Less inspired. In a stale holding pattern. The season has only made a minute change. Still spring. The sun is warming the earth, the rains gentle and abundant. New life blossoming.

The creatures other than us are out and about doing what they are supposed to be doing. Nourishing, proliferating, living. We on the other side of reality are stumped. Diseased, confused, and dying.

Stuck in a self-dug hole. Trying to relearn what we’ve been taught over and over again for eons. This is not sad, it’s pathetic. It takes viral anomalies, murder, and destruction to jiggle our caged souls.

Are we all so damaged that we have lost the miracle of our senses? Are we DNA mutations? Dammed to exist in a flawed survival mode, a relentless sludge of ignorance, until our need to be is excised?

Can’t we make the best of our sordid attempt at a future? Give and rejoice in what we have been given. Is there a way for us to grow while sharing the glories of our inventions?

Have we outlived or forgotten what it feels like to be useful, happy? Must we always tread at the edge? 2021 spring has arrived and we are just about back to life as usual. Let’s all be an inspiration.