A Dent In a Cloud

“What do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t have to guess, I know what it is.”

“Well, then what is it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to know?”

“It’s just a cloud. You are supposed to tell a cloud what it is, it isn’t supposed to be telling you what it is, unless it has a good reason; tornadoes, hurricanes, white cap festivals; things like that.”

I could see where this conversation was going. Some people are naturally curious, while some don’t care unless it affects them directly, and of course by that time it is usually too late. Sam is that type of person.

We have debated over the years various topics of interest. I have a tendency to be more negative about the projected outcomes of proposals than Sam. He tends to see the silver lining around the painted sign that says, “Before It’s Too Late.”

It doesn’t explain itself, which I believe is the point. It’s kind of like telling someone to remain calm while Chicken Little is screaming from the hen house that the sky is falling. One thing for sure, whether you believe in chickens broadcasting doomsday critiques or not, you are going to look. We can’t help ourselves.

Sam and I are not friends, or at least our relationship doesn’t fit the mold I have resurrected from an abandoned storage unit. We are amiable acquaintances. I believe he exists and he believes I exist, and therefore we have the right to be ourselves; there is no need for apologies.

We appear to be locked into a time when doubt has become the national pass time. We no longer trust what we see or hear because it has been manipulated to verify events that never occurred, or if they did, they were nothing at all like what was reported as having transpired. We have been left on an island surrounded by sharks and told we need to fend for ourselves, the calvary is not coming. I guess I’m fortunate; I’ve given up on the Lone Ranger and his faithful companion Tonto showing up with the keys to happiness and a strong affiliation for the truth, years ago; I still regret it.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” His words seeking to define the obvious. Much like belief, it is only relevant when we deem it necessary.

We’ve all looked at clouds and taken from the image we conjure from its rolls and flows, a likeness we can relate to. It’s a pleasant enough way to spend a few hours on a cumulus day.

I didn’t have the heart to respond. I’m not expecting a new dawn of Aquarius, or the lottery money promised me for a ticket I never purchased. All I see is a shadow cast over my future. The promise of a tomorrow has been riddled with the doubt, instilled with the fact that the truth has been reshaped to fit all our psychological aspirations for a better world, but promotes only an individual’s needs.

We sit on the porch watching tree leaves wilt in the scorching heat, and the sky take on the paleness of reluctant acceptance. I understand now the warnings my mother issued about always wearing clean underwear, it makes sense; the accident approaching in slow motion is unavoidable. We can see it coming and yet find ways to avoid recognizing it for what it is; lies if repeated often enough will become truths despite our belief in our being an intelligent species.

Warnings only have value if you follow them and are rewarded by the evidence falling like ten-pound hail stones on everyone’s head but yours. But we know that only happens to road runners and in Laurell and Hardy reruns. I feel his question deserves an answer even though it has been written on subway walls and bathroom stalls for as long as I’ve been able to read.

“No, can’t say that I have seen anything like it before. But I have seen the writing on the walls.” My answer is unhurried in coming; I’m hoping it will provide sufficient proof that the slow and steady will be left for the next generation to discover, should they find the time.

The gaps between questions and answers widen as I attempt to remain calm in a situation that demands, if nothing else, violent rhetoric.

Sam doesn’t say anything in response. He continues to be fixated by the deformed cloud that appears to have been etched on the sky above us. I know it is possible to ignore this warning like we’ve ignored all the previous warnings, although this one appears to be more persistent. It is always easier to ignore a stick until it touches your eye.

There is a great line in a movie about one of the fears that has persisted since the thirst for world domination has existed; the nuclear deterrent disguised as a blessing. Fear has been used to keep us from asking that one disturbing question; would worrying help? I believe we can all agree, although worry adds a layer of psychological protection- its ability to distract, it adds nothing to an outcome based on the prevalent insanity. And here we are looking at a sky dominated by a dented cloud, that might just may be the result of an escaped cartoon character’s revenge on a passing fad.

“What does the writing on the walls have to say about clouds? Are clouds the new prognosticators of truth?” I can tell Sam is mining for a means of salvation.

I had not heard that the future of our species had formed an unholy alliance with the possibility that weather predictions will begin to be influenced by our emotional stability, relieving the pressure of the highs and lows instilled in us by meteorologists across the land, by allowing us to create our own umbrellas to help impede the doubt created by fact.

“Haven’t you heard that clouds are the new prognosticators of the future?”

“What does that mean, and haven’t we discussed this previously?”

“As I was saying, once the truth has become indicative of how we feel, warnings are no longer relevant.We are destined to choose an ending to our own story. I’m not saying that the story will necessarily end the way we envision it, but isn’t it assuring to know it can’t do any more harm than is predicted? How much worse can reality get?”

You’ve no doubt heard the saying you can’t put spilled milk back in the bottle? Well, that’s not true. It just takes work and perseverance and the knowledge that no matter how much effort you put into it, you will never get all the milk back in the bottle. Once you accept that reality, whatever else follows can’t be more disappointing than you imagined, just possibly more deadly.

“I’m beginning to understand your affinity for the negative. Are we, in your opinion, doomed to an Armageddon fate?”

Would it help if I were to give a warning? Warnings have been given and ignored for several hundred years. What would cause people to begin to heed them at this point?

“Have you heard the term, tipping point? A point of no return? A place from which you are unable to alter an outcome. You must be content to watch and wait to see if it stays within the parameters of the predictions; remembering however, that no matter how long you wait it won’t change the outcome.

Envision a toboggan sitting on the crest of the hill. Once it begins its descent, there is no stopping its downward progress; gravity sees to that, despite frictions valiant attempt. You can try to slow or stop its progress, but you will receive no response until the Momentum Theorem is satisfied.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that. I believe you can peer over the edge of the earth into the eyes infinity and see them peering back at you. Infinity, I’ve heard, is rather set in her ways though, and considers change to be in the realm of miracles. Did you know that miracles are the result of Hail Mary’s?”

Once you’ve decided to let your future find its own path, you also have to expect it to find its own end. Interference, no matter how noble an experiment, is not going to alter the outcome. It will only suffice as a pacifier until the lights go out for good.

“Given your negativity can I assume there is no hope? No chance of being saved? Have we reached a point where all we can do is sit on a porch and wait to see the extent of the retribution heaped upon us? Can’t we move, go somewhere where the affects won’t be as devastating to our outlook on truth and fact?” Sam, like so many, fear to let go of the illusion that God will put an end to our madness, not Mother Earth.

“The most direct answer is no. I have not reached the point of no return philosophically, but doubt has left me skeptical that humanity, who to this point has failed to see the writing on the walls, will become so moved by the facts it will begin to regard facts as an existential threat, and not the acceptable noise of a junk yard dog or the ambient sounds of a city street filled with screaming horns and the chatter of unanswered questions?”

“So, is that an indirect yes?”

I’m rethinking the whole relationship mold thing.