Environment stories 2017: dreaming between US and Korea

Stories and News No. 1002

Here is the reign between the two paradoxical, at the same time mostly real, our illogical world’s extremes, which is equally irrationally still standing, despite everything.
A leader who, with his mindless policies, is increasingly isolating himself, his country, and the whole humanity from the rest of the universe, and another who does the same thing plundering with missiles to provoke anger and fears in the former.
There is, in the middle, a dream
.

A planet.
I would only like to have a planet of simple measures and geometric shape, but not perfect, right?
Something studied at school, plan from above and solid if you walked fast and curious on it.

Yes, I’m talking about a planet inhabited by people with volatile heart and impulsive belly, but at the time of the need ready to step back.
Because the reason is boring, that’s for sure, but it's the shiny eye that sees the pit on the street.
And, at worse, that remembers the past fall.
That is how “at worse” said yesterday, becomes “at best”, written tomorrow.
A planet with finite resources, not a paradise, okay?
Nothing incredible, normal stuff, easily synthesized by an infant’s imagination.
Like a chocolates box that may end, which has to, that will do.
A common as immensely precious experience, that’s the completeness of gifts, and not just for the benefit of appreciating them properly.
It also makes you realize that the real gift is not the latter, but the ability to recognize it in colors as in aroma, then looking for others, even more beautiful.
Otherwise, why observing so intensely the sky?
Otherwise, why insist on jumping, again, and yet another leap, with the stubborn hope of distracting Madam Gravity once and for all?
Otherwise, why the moon and all the stars?
A planet, I said, something imaginable, so designable.
Like the fruit of a suggestive idea.
That's a dream, just like that.
Of a planet and living creatures constantly shaken by heart’s rhythm and breath’s vibrations, but when the box is exhausted, being capable of putting aside personal dullness.
Elemental stuff, let’s be clear, nothing exceptional.
It's not the myth that gets flesh, what I want, even if it would be appreciated, that’s obvious.
A captain, only a captain, mine, indeed, ours.
An inverse reinterpretation of Dead Poets Society’s best scene, where he himself, by first, climbs to the bench to exclaim with a calm, but toning voice: "The ship is sinking, enough with vain talk. Come on, crew, let’s close the shadows and weigh the horizon, looking for the mainland."
Instead of losing time rejecting those who have already begun to sail with courage and despair.
Here it is, the planet, of words and fog, down there, in the only possible future.
Where only words, fog and some dreams will arrive safe and healthy.


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