Flying beluga whale

... A dispatch from bewilderness

Across time, humans have responded to the wild, chaos of life by telling each other stories to make sense of it all, or try to. We went from petroglyphs, to holy books, to Greek epic to internet – which subsumed all other sources of information by becoming our map, our clock, our printing press, our camera, calculator, phone, our radio and TV.

One click and you know: How to keep your fiddle fit, how to win at nasal warfare, how to bring back wooly mammoths, bring up kids, bring down drones, and power a bus with poop.

One click and life is a bowl of cherries. Presto! People have the food they need, the money they need, plus the faith, love, and strength they need. Books write themselves and find their own agent. Nothing stalls, bursts, cracks or falls apart.

Paint and collage by Judith Hannah Weiss

I’m interrupted by reality where things do burst, crack, and fall apart. It’s someone calling. Ah, Jamie from the National Polling Institute of something or other. She wants to speak to Ms. Weiss on questions of civic significance. “She can’t come to the phone,” I say.

Then it’s Tom calling with questions of national defense. I tell him what I told Jamie, “Ms. Weiss can’t come to the phone.” Civil significance will have to wait, as will national defense. Then it’s the National Whatever for Whatever Disease, and Ms. Weiss makes a donation.

I check the internet. There is a war. There is another war. Then another. Then a huge hunk of land formerly known as Antarctica dives off a cliff.  

I click again and find an Arizona rescue team found a pigeon wearing a rhinestone vest.  If I had a nickel for every time I saw a pigeon wearing a rhinestone vest, I'd have one nickel.

I keep clicking and find a flying beluga whale. Really, I do. You can’t make this stuff up. Or you can, but I’m not.