The angels don’t play here anymore. They flew away when the selfishness and shallowness rose up in clouds and blocked the last feeble tendrils of sunlight that once shone on me. Now my everydays have turned into discordant dirges defining the darkness and only demons and devils dance to the music.<\/p>\n
The angels don’t play here anymore.<\/p>\n
Musing now…<\/p>\n
I can barely remember when the angels flew near and watched over me and I lived blessed by their love. I can vaguely remember the beautiful silver glint of the sun’s reflection off sweet golden angel wings. It was a beautiful and fortunate time in my life yet I was blithe and cavalier and I took those lovely angelic halcyon days for granted. I deserved them after all — I had them coming to me.<\/p>\n
In my life the angels have come to visit me quite a few times but I never appreciated them when they were here. I took them as my due — I was special and I deserved the blessings of life.<\/p>\n
But then I realize it’s not just my life the angels have abandoned; there’s a dearth of angels in this sad world of selfishness, avarice and pandering.<\/p>\n
On the news last night, I saw a ten-minute clip of millions of starving children in Niger and didn’t see a single angel there. What I saw were ravaged children caressed by desperate mothers helpless to provide nourishment to their own flesh and blood and often watching their children die in one last weak and futile scream for something, anything, to eat.<\/p>\n
But the world is awash in money and food is everywhere,still I watched as a Nigerian mother tried to feed her family of three young children with a pitiful soup made from a six tiny leaves she plucked from a nearby tree. This will be the last meal she’ll make from that tree this season. There are no more leaves on that tree.<\/p>\n
I watched as a mother’s tears dripped onto the bloated abdomen of her starving child and then watched as the mother wailed in abject grief when the child died in her arms. I watch as the mother’s tears ran down the dead child’s belly.<\/p>\n
We spend trillions on wars and cars and cell phones and makeup and gourmet cuisine. We deserve it – we are somehow the chosen ones but is only by dumb luck we weren’t born in a country like Niger. It is only providence that we aren’t trying to feed our children with a few shriveled leaves plucked from a gnarly tree.<\/p>\n
While I’ve been busy on my tablet and you’ve been busy on your smart phone, ten-thousand more poor, helpless children have been taken by death and the most we can say is –“That’s a shame. But what can I do about it?” The biggest shame is that’s what we always say — we shrug and say “it’s too bad” the go back to worrying about the really important things like a new computer, our Facebook pages, buying a new phone or finding a new person to date.<\/p>\n
The angels don’t play here anymore.<\/p>\n
I didn’t recognize them when they were here before. All the good things that came my way when the angels were here have long since been perished ins swirling clouds of shallow selfishness and the endless quests for self-validation and self-gratification. That quest, of course is always futile. The angels don’t play here any more. They’ve long since flown away.<\/p>\n
Somewhere the sun still shines pallid and weak. It will never be as sweet or as warm or as bright as it was when the angels graced my life. The demons and the dark sad, sick birds of death circle around waiting for my spirit to relinquish the last frail ounce of hope I have managed to keep inside.<\/p>\n
The angels don’t play here anymore. There aren’t many angels left in this world of deep yet shallow darkness. While I wrote this, another 12,000 babies starved to death while our politicians spent enough on getting elected or re-elected in that same span of time, to have saved every single one of those poor, dying children.<\/p>\n
It’s easy to say, “what can I do about it?” and carry on with our lives and our shallow pursuits. But I can’t seem to can’t get the images of that mother’s tears rolling down her dying baby’s bloated belly. I look around. I seems to me we’re all so selfish and self-centered, and some so greedy, and some so needy, that we actually believe that saying “what can I do about it?” is a valid excuse. With our excuses made we then can go on with our lives and soon forget how terribly those poor children suffer. Though we turn our faces and thoughts away from then, those children still suffer and starve to death.<\/p>\n
As long as we don’t have to look at them or be reminded of them, the “what can I do about it” excuses us and assuages our consciences and allow us to pursue really important things:<\/p>\n
“Wait until I tell my Facebook friends about my new boyfriend.”<\/p>\n
“Wait until everyone finds out I got a new boat.”<\/p>\n
“I can’t wait to get my new iPhone.”<\/p>\n
“We’re going to dinner at that new four-star restaurant tonight. I’m so excited.”<\/p>\n
Right now all I can see in my mind’s eye are all those poor, starving children. I know that every single one of them could be easily fed with the food we throw away every single day.<\/p>\n
But what can we do about it?<\/p>\n
The angels don’t play here anymore. They’ve all gone away.<\/p>\n
What can I do about it?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The angels don’t play here anymore. They flew away when the selfishness and shallowness rose up in clouds and blocked the last feeble tendrils of sunlight that once shone on me. Now my everydays have turned into discordant dirges defining the darkness and only demons and devils dance to the music. The angels don’t play here anymore. Musing\u2026 Read More »<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[228],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4392"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4392"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4392\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4397,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4392\/revisions\/4397"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4392"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4392"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4392"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}