A Fond Farewell to Alternatives by William Benz

Though it’s only been about three years since my last article, our social landscape has changed beyond belief. I thought back then I was playing my part in keeping hope alive, as did so many of us.

Instead, the Change I was hoping for became more of the same, and to a degree I could not then imagine.

The only Change I’ve experienced is in myself. In ways I would have never thought possible. The most significant expression of which is my intolerance of Avoidance in all its proliferating forms. It’s useless to hope that somehow this will all blow over without requiring too much sacrifice. Or hoping through hook or crook we’ll manage to slip on by into better times without paying too high a price.

I think those days are completely over, for the foreseeable future. At least until we make some very significant changes. Our governments are not going to do it for us. Getting another degree or a better job or moving to that ideal location won’t help either. All that will do is postpone the inevitable.

There is a need for another Revolution.
“The end of democracy and the defeat of the American Revolution will occur when government falls into the hands of lending institutions and moneyed incorporations.”
~Thomas Jefferson

I quote Jefferson not as an ultimate authority, but because he represents a simple voice from times when more people acknowledged that limiting tyranny and prosecuting those who do harm to many inevitably requires personal and forceful action.

I’ve been retired for three years, but I work harder now than I ever did at just ferreting out what’s happened, is happening and who did/is doing the deeds. You want to know what I have found out?

Sorry, I have too much respect for your process to join the parrot flock of people telling you what to think or what to do next. That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself, and soon. You’ll have to join the mix and take a stand or sink into sands of avoidance. If you think that will be easy, you’re not paying attention.

Besides, my ThoughtDreams have become far too lurid and truth-based for general publication. Especially, given the present day Guillotines have morphed into such myriad forms and authoritative efficiencies.

And even more besides that, given that most of our intended audience have been harried into orphans from significance with only a sliver of hope that their silence and collective paralysis manages an echo of apocalyptic resonance. To what end? That’s a very good question.

Especially since the lines are already drawn. A fact that I hope more than a few have noticed. INNW?

Once back in the sixties, I climbed the Third Flatiron to watch a Full Moon rise over the plains to the East of Boulder, Colorado. After being Utterly Amazed, I did a dulfersitz rappell off the backside in pitch darkness. As I remember it was mostly a free rappel down to a very narrow ledge called Friday’s Folly. Some say it got that name from the fact that when using the standard sized rope of the day looped through an eyebolt at the top you only had 4’ of line left at the bottom.

Usually this wouldn’t be a problem as most of the drop was a free rappel with you becoming the lead weight on the end of a line, gone fishing. Of course, if you deviated at the top when you still had contact with the rock and didn’t follow a perfectly straight route down, you’d have a serious problem before you reached bottom called ‘running out of rope’.

I had done it dozens of times in broad daylight. Piece of cake! But this time, I dangled there for what quickly became an inordinately long period of time, until finally one of my toes finally felt solid rock. And thump! I had found the ledge in the dark! No problem. But when I looked down at my right hand I only had about 2” of rope left. Talk about exhilarating! That was 43 years ago. Back in the days when I was protected by Youthful Folly!

Now things seem so different, and are. I seem to be filled with a little more generalized apprehension. Certainly, a bit more caution. But also, a sense of loss. A loss of daring. A loss of looking for that something that truly matters and knowing the value of seeking it out, however ridiculously dangerous.

I’ve thought a lot about those two inches over the last four decades. It’s not like that was the only close call I’ve ever had. Just a particularly graphic one which somehow deeply embedded itself in my musculature.

I still remember minute details even within the depths of that darkness—the pounding of my heart in my throat. The tight cinching down of my right hand. And the peculiar and immediate sense of all absence of danger, once past. Was that an example of my uncanny skill? Or pure stupidity? You had to be there in the moment to understand how, in many ways, those questions didn’t matter. Such judgments are immaterial after the fact.

What matters most is what you learn and that you live to tell about it. And now, what matters even more is whether you can apply any wisdom gleaned from such intensities to things now so seemingly unrelated, yet so applicable.

I’ve always wondered if someone who came up only two inches short was any better off than those who came up lacking ten feet. The fall would be the same. In many things, close does not count. I’ve also wondered if someone with only two inches left was any closer to death than those with many yards to spare.

What it really comes down to is what we’ll do once we realize that we don’t have much rope left.

So thanks to everyone still paying attention with enough courage to make the climb and safe descent. May you always have at least two inches left.

William P. Benz is an Artist, Writer, and Poet living in SE Portland. Most of his time is spent tending his urban garden to raise vegetables for his raw, green smoothies. And since the rest of his time is NOT spent watching TV, reading newspapers, giving or attending workshops, he has never felt better informed in his life. He may be reached @ wpbenz@aracnet.com.