Gary, I thought you might like this one.
>>>Waltzing over the cliff
by G. Hayduke
Our lives are in the hands of madmen. One, intent on stopping the evil ones, the other on eliminating the infidels. Each needing an enemy, and each providing. Both gripped with religious fervor and righteous intent, they embrace each other in a dance of death.
In a blur of turban and stetson, kaftan and denim, they spin their way towards the abyss. With a death grip on the others throat, they whirl and toss each other about. We are all in tow, caught in this whirlwind of insanity. There is no stopping this danse macabre.
We are doomed to see the end of this dance, spectators of our own destruction. One wants turmoil in the Middle East, and will have it. He will not be denied permanent physical and ideological targets in his Holy Land. Images of Jihadi fighters dance before his eyes. Legions of followers. Bismallah.
The other seeks power and money and hegemony and Manifest Destiny. He carries the torch of Western Civilization. He leads the Crusade. He is the protector of the Home Land. Warriors and bombs await his orders. He does God's will. Let's roll.
But wait, is there an intervener to this dance? France, China, Russia, Germany, Belgium, "May I cut in?" Millions of people marching for peace, "Can I have this dance?" Reason, sanity, compassion, humanity, "My turn?"
Not a chance! Play on, they say! And the band plays on. ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, CNN, PBS, Clear Channel, USA Today. The music keeps coming. The drums beat louder, faster. The dancers speed up, like a two step dervish in frenzied bliss. Their grips tighten, their voices shrill. They will not stop.
But, what if one of those interveners tries to quiet the sardonic antiphony? What if sanity attempted to interpose? Another attack, anthrax, small pox, car bombs, truck bombs, dirty bombs, ricin, plague, pestilence. His apocalyptic vision will not be thwarted.
And, he will be rewarded. The response is inevitable, predictable, detestable. Sorrow, grief, belligerence, wounded vengeance. God's wrath manifest in Daisy Cutters, Bunker Busters, Smart Bombs. There is no escape, we are in the hands of madmen.
On tiptoe, spurs and sandals tangled, they spin and twirl, teetering at the edge. Reason, obscured by the cloud of dust and gloom in their wake, we watch in horror. Helpless to divert them from their chosen path they plunge us toward their promised land. Headlong we tumble into the valley of darkness. A dark age awaits.
There is no turning back. There is no saving Grace. Our future is in the hands of madmen.<<<
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