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Life, actually…
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ALIENS AND EARTHLINGS FINALLY COMMUNICATE
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Wading through the crises of the world right now, it helps me find my balance when I remember there were other times, other crises…way, way back. Entries from my long-ago Red Clay Diary:
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The grey haired man and his wife wander attentively through the stacks of books and paper that are displayed in the Museum of Fond Memories.
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They’ve never been here before, but they are excited to find a quiet haven, surrounded by five centuries of artifacts and books, the kinds of artifacts and books that are lost to them forever in their storm—ravaged hometown, New Orleans.
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They are staying with friends in Alabama. They don’t know whether they have a home to return to.
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A rough-edged woman shows up at the shop, talking energetically about the old books and magazines she’s trying to sell to me. She’s getting rid of her possessions so she can trek southward to spend her life helping victims of Katrina. She’s had an epiphany but doesn’t know what an epiphany is.
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Larry at the local hotel tells me stories about refugees he’s housing, Teresa of the Downtown security force pleads for aid for all displaced evacuees sheltered at the nearby civic center. My friend Beth is lying in the neighborhood hospital, donating a kidney to her friend. Daughter Margaret sends a note that her church in Lower Alabama has turned itself into a soup kitchen, that thousands are being helped throughout her village. Suburban dwellers say they still don’t have electrical service, but they don’t seem to be complaining or whining.
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I recall the day after 9/11, when son-in-law Derek walked into his home near the coast with a funny look on his face. He told Margaret, “They didn’t turn the trashcans over this time. And they even replaced the lids,” referring to city workers who usually tossed things about in the rush to get things done. They, too, acted not quite as abruptly as usual, treating customers with respect and kindness.
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Every few minutes, I run into more anecdotes and stories about post-Katrina, post-9/11 times. Despite the horrors, many people are being respectful of one another, and respectfully quiet now and then.
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One of my favorite movie scenes drifts into full view in my mind. In the film STARMAN, an enthusiastic and frustrated scientist is desperately attempting to communicate with a superior-intelligenced alien. The scientist is trying to learn all he can before vivisectionists arrive to enslave and examine this stranger, just in case he presents a threat to Earthlings.
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And then, a great cinematic moment occurs.
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Scientist and alien are sitting face to face, just before all Bureaucracy breaks loose.
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In reply to the scientist’s obvious question, “Why are you here?” the dying alien say, “We are interested in your species. You are a strange species…not like any other…and you would be surprised how many there are in the Universe…intelligent but savage.”
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The scientist is hanging on to every word during this first-ever conversation between planets.
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The alien asks, “Shall I tell you what I find beautiful about you (Earthlings)?”
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The scientist can only nod.
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“You are at your very best when things are worst.”
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And that’s the scene.
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It’s the kind of thing you don’t think about too much on a conscious level, but by and by the significance begins to sink in. The metaphor applies. The soul takes a turn for the better.
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We are at our very best when things are worst.
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I look around me at the changed people, the changed lives, the refugees of 9/11 and Katrina and Hiroshima and Tsunami and a thousand other catastrophes human-made or human-preventable or human-unpreventable. I see the good that people do lives after them. The bad is interred with their bones.
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Sorry about paraphrasing you, Mark Antony, but you got it wrong. Most people are capable of great kindnesses, especially when they are not prepared to resist their gentle impulses.
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Look around you. You’ll see small kindnesses everywhere.
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Like the Starman, you will wonder at the mistakes and vanities, but you will think we’re all worth saving, once you see how we react when times are worst
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© Jim Reed 2024 A.D.
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