This psalmist should have lived to hear Garth Brooks sing about unanswered prayers, even though this song is about something else — not the loss of an old flame, but the loss of the fire within, or life itself.
This psalm specifically mentions people who say one thing, then do the very opposite, as in speaking out for peace and then going to war. The psalmist says his “Lord” will see what’s going on and will “destroy them / And not build them up,” not in some far-off heaven, but here and now on earth.
Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way, but is that what’s happening in Ukraine? In the Middle East? In Africa? In Central and South America? If it is, then somebody’s got a whole lot of catching up to do.
I don’t lIke songs about war, especially ones meant to pump us up and send us into battle thinking we’re invincible. That isn’t realistic, no matter how strong our army is or how smart our generals are. In war, people die, whether as combatants or as collateral damage — an arrogant way of saying, innocent bystanders.
It’s also a myth that some higher power cares more about one group of people than another, and gives them victory over their enemies, no matter what. Those people may, in fact, win in battle, but at what cost? How many casualties were innocent victims? How many of their war dead had been told that “God is on our side”?
Furthermore, there’s no promise of reward for martyrs in any heaven, whether one with gold roads and big houses, or one with threescore and twelve young lovers to make death more attractive. There’s just pain, death, more pain, and all the senseless destruction that comes with letting our high and mighty lords lead us.
The psalmist finally sings, “I would have lost heart, unless I had believed / That I would see the goodness of the Lord / In the land of the living.” So this praise singer really did expect to get paid with favors here, not in the land of the dead. But I guess it’s the same way with other war tunes, like “Dixie” and “Over There.”
Some people talk the talk, but don’t walk the walk. That isn’t me. And I don’t mind being tested — what I know, what I do, what I want.
Go ahead; put me on trial. I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth. I’m not into “cults” of crazies, and I don’t tolerate two-faced jerks. I detest grand old posses of money-grubbing hatemongers; I want nothing to do with them.
I mean exactly what I say. I go to gatherings of like-minded people in order to express my thanks and wonder over this glorious land in which we live. But I refuse to “worship” with a crowd of cutthroats who are always up to no good and will do anything for a dadgum buck.
I’ll say it again — I’m gonna do what’s right. Give me some credit. Give me a break. I don’t want to be a member of any club that would have a phony, lying, immoral huckster as a regular member, much less as its president.
In these chaotic times, one must not trust the adages about might making right and good guys always finishing last. Anyone who doesn’t question those primeval cliches should be ashamed.
The universal truth of the iSoul who connects all paths and guides all fellow travelers teaches us that time really is on our side — yes, it is — because the world never has to wait for the sunrise.
It’s been that way since getting our marching orders, when we dusted ourselves off from the Big Bang, rose to our feet, and took an evolutionary walk of trial and error — the gait to our survival.
The laws of the universe are reliable if unforgiving, unlike, say, the rules of the road upon which we drive most days, where our highwaymen just whistle and look the other way, until they don’t.
In this world of ours, who fears any lord of discipline? Not the lawless. Not the wealthy and their kind. Only those of us who choose to obey the masters of this glass bead game that we all play.
Wouldn’t we be better off if liars, crooks and thieves would just ‘fess up and save the world a lot of time and trouble? But their “deal with the devil” includes the detail that they can never renege.
That’s no reason, though, to change our bearings on the high road we travel. We may motor up this scenic byway in fits and starts, in the dark or light. But another sunrise is always just ahead.
This whole world is sacred — every blessed inch of ground and every precious particle of matter from the four corners and seven seas of this good earth. And we all are its keepers.
In myth and legend, higher beings dwelled on mountaintops — in “God’s country,” as it were. But who among our lower kind were worth the salt in their veins? Those folks who kept their noses clean? Good, honest people who had positive values and never followed a nattering nabob of negativism — that is, a lying leader?
Yes, but also simple working people — like carpenters, merchants, teachers, fishers and ferrymen — who lived in the most humble or desert places, quaint seaside villages or inner cities where, guilty or innocent, they all died.
This song’s key requires listeners and readers to keep ears and eyes open, to hear and see, with instruments at ready, that the theme and variations in this symphony of life depend not so much on a catchy, recurring tune, but on a firm foundation of harmony and a steady beat.
The iSoul is my Prime membership; I can order everything from A to Z.
My packages — of which I am part and parcel — lie in carrier facilities; they run along a river of conveyors to carriers who brave wind, rain, snow or sleet. My purchases restore my credit; and my rising annual fee ensures two-day, home delivery.
Yes, even though I navigate cyberspace through the shadowy threat of identity theft, I will fear no malicious hack; for the iSoul’s security and loss prevention team has my back; whether the corporate logo is an arrow or a smile, they comfort me.
I can search for, say, the perfect coffee table (but some assembly is required); I can bulk order toiletries and other sundries in which to bathe myself from head to toe; the beverage in my new spill-proof mug stays hot or cold, as the case may be.
My goodness, I’ll stay on Prime ’til I drop, and I will shop at home forever (or vice versa).
Sometimes I feel snakebit, like everything I touch has been poisoned. I ask for help, but no one seems to hear me or see me. It’s like I’m invisible.
Other people — usually “true believers” — whine about every little thing that goes wrong; and when they get their way, everybody hears about it.
To them, I’m lower than a snake in the grass. I’m a pissant, a maggot in something they just stepped in. They hate me worse than that on their shoes.
They look at me and laugh. “This guy’s always running his mouth about some universal spirit,” they scoff, “so let his ever-loving iSoul save his ass.”
But all my life I’ve known there’s more to spiritual salvation or cosmic consciousness or whatever you want to call it than what you hear in any church.
Many of those true believers mainly believe in making money, piling it high, and burying the poor and the weak with it. Their alternate truth is just lies.
I’m washed up. I don’t have the heart to keep fighting. I’m surrounded by lying jackals who want to steal all I have left — to rip the shirt right off my back.
I just hope that the quiet folks speak up before it’s too late and show the true believers that the domain of the universal spirit is within us all, even them.
Then all people who ever live and die will know — as I do, when playing possum — that we have met our enemies and our friends alike, and they all are us.
Whatever it is you worship must give you whatever you want and take you wherever you need to go in exchange for whatever you sacrifice for it; otherwise, you’d do just as well to put your money on a fast car or a spirited thoroughbred.
