Got out of bed at a decent hour this morning; showered, shaved and otherwise pulled myself together. Pulled on clothes, went out for the morning's wake-up espresso and bite to eat. Along the way, picked up a copy of El País to thumb through as I sipped/nibbled. Got an eyeful of the headlines as I walked away from the magazine stand -- jumpin' Jesus, what a nightmare.
If one is paying attention to the picture painted by the local news media today, the world is not just accelerating downhill in the general direction of hell, we're doing so in the fashion of a pack of gibbering, partying apes, tossing confetti and firing off whatever noisemakers are at hand (while those in charge drain the brake fluid from our collective handbasket to sell back to the rest of us hapless nitwits at inflated prices). And if one studies that picture carefully, one can spot the distant figure of Hope off in the background, running toward the horizon with its ass on fire.
I stare at the front page: images of bodies amid the flaming wreckage of bombings (nearby people screaming religious epithets), stories of outrageous corruption, instances of blatant lies being spouted by various governments and political types. Then I look up and gaze around me here -- life going on normally; people drinking coffee, eating sweet rolls; two young mothers with babies at a nearby table, faces radiating contentment with their situation; others walking past the cafetería's windows, talking, carrying bags of groceries, maybe stopping to buy a lottery ticket from the woman at the corner or exchange a comment with one of the guys at the fish market across the way. I look back down at the paper: death, destruction, chaos. I look around me once again -- a quiet midweek morning in Madrid, air cool (though milder than in past days), sun shining through hazy clouds, people carrying on normal life.
I reflect on this contrast, and I think about the way we're trained to focus in on the hotspots of trouble, difficulty, tragedy, ignoring the rest of the picture -- the overwhelming majority of the picture -- where life goes its way, most things in most places functioning normally, existence carrying on in an intricate, beautiful dance of amazing variety and overall balance. And I think, who am I going to believe: media outlets who paint a picture that simply doesn't jibe with my general sense of the world, or my eyes, ears, etc.?
Seems a fairly clear choice to me, though one that might get me labeled naive, willfully dim, or other far less complimentary adjectives. Fortunately, I care progressively less about what other people think of my choices as I stumble my way through this life (and, paradoxically, I enjoy and care more for people in general as I care less about what they think about me).
I had no idea what to expect when I flew down to Casablanca at the end of last week. To that point, I'd never spent time in any part of what might be called the Islamic world. If I'd relied on the general picture I see sketched in the western media (on and offline), that Islamic world is a dangerous, alien place for an individual like myself, born in the States, carrying an American passport. There's no question that it was different in many ways from the cultures I've wandered through, and there were uncomfortable aspects, challenging moments, happenings that left me startled, momentarily disoriented. It was also fascinating, lovely, intriguing, touching, congenial, packed with sensations, sounds, smells, things to watch. Unbelievably complex, overall.
[Continued in next entry]
rws 6:59 AM [+]