What dynamic ties a convulsive world, a weary US, and a surreal Puerto Rico
together? In ‘Miracles,’ as in ‘Animal Farm’, thoughtfully communicative
critters, are plot devices; they well show … we’re our own worst foe.
To fix our fix … we’ll need be … unusually creative.
Marx, Lenin, Trotsky and Stalin turned out to be principals amongst George
Orwell’s animal characters. However, any similarity those
and these share stops there though. Chachomanopapa’s beastly proxies forge
destinies. Orwell’s destroyed … those opposed.
Arguably, Art’s own people have been, against themselves, a formidable foe;
too many, ever afraid of change, opt not to molt,
effectively remaining, colonized. War-bootied, loose-fitting Yankee clothes
now co-opt … tightly fitted … Spanish yokes.
But nail-studded colonial boots are oppressively heavy whether they are worn in
apparent beneficence … or rapaciously.
More than half of a millennium has passed. A millennium awaits. In
Almighty God we trust … belatedly.
The weak and the persecuted, representing all others by whatsoever means
humbled; a plethora of doxastic religions
belittled by actions and branded by omissions to act within their means;
legions of prideful but shallow factions; …
… all those and more were to be found within the backgrounds of Council members,
those who preferred referring to themselves as the Sexy
Six, for short. The long and the short of it: It appears that The Council’s members
are … for humanity … an apt proxy.
As we previously co-wrote in the ‘Miracles’ Acknowledgements, the virtual wannabes,
Buzz, Kong, Lou, Job and Nerd send their best, wishing us Godspeed
toward living happily, wealthily and wisely; or, alternatively, that we,
as per Spock … “live long and prosper” … in deed.
‘Prosper’, perhaps more than any other word, encapsulates The Council’s message
to a humbled humanity. It is by prospering wherein
we might find music sufficiently soothing to calm the savage beast a sage
says … resides in us … somewhere … waiting.