the divestiture of the American psyche
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Verily, verily, Everyone American enjoys owning three pocket knives, two good pair of binoculars that they can't find when an eagle is spotted flying over and behind their garage and six or eight stout colorful blankets for emergencies.
At some point however, things, goods and objects begins to overwhelm the psyche and it's time for the first divestiture of part of one's material ownership of things. At some point everyone must begin to shrink their footprint on the world.
It's unsettling to throw things aside because our things are part of the ballast that keeps us balanced in an indifferent and distracted world. Collectively few care cosmically if we are here or not and we clutch tightly our material goods as comfort from that realization as long as we can.
Comes the day when all must have their original divestiture.
Take your Indian blanket, the one with the Native American markings on it and go out in the early morning cold and mist and find the planet Venus in the murky sky and sit on the hillside wrapped in your blanket while clutching the edges to contemplate how alone you are in the vastness of things.
Someday it will be your time grab only what you can carry and face the next stage of your existence.
What do you burden thy hands and shoulders to lug through your days?
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