dust prophets in dark doom

in cormac mccarthy's novel "the road" there is a scene
where the man and the boy his son
happen upon a straggler
the child is moved to pity
while the man is cautious skeptical
and not just a bit tormenting
to the aged and beleaguered
"survivor"
the conversation tends to
swift philosophical exchanges
where at one point
at the metaphysical height
after the man has inquired as to
the ragged man's belief in a god
this ragged man states
"there is no god and we are his prophets"

it's a statement that reminds me of a
sardonic remark by george santayana
"there is no god and mary is his mother"

both dismissing and affirming
what is considered impossible to talk about

in the case of mccarthy's story
the situation is more than dire
it is one thing to dismiss the absolute
if one is hanging to all that is left of
the known world by a thread
a thread of human gumption to survive
a thread of sincerity where despair
is all about
it is quite another thing to
dispense with discourse about
the metaphysical topic which is at the heart
of all our inquiry
even if we are negligent to admit it
from a place of relative comfort


the human mind is naturally curious about
what appears to be so mysterious
the mere fact of our being here
even heidegger is given to the admission
that we cannot quite figure out the "why"
of our existence
that dasein is contained within an atmosphere
of inexplicability

the man sees in the utter sincerity of his child
something of what he comes to believe must be evidence of god
the child despite his suffering
does not yield to callous indifference
he still wishes to care for
those in need
he is moved to share what little food they have
with this nameless indigent
nameless but still possessed
by virtue of mccarthy's genius
of his own sense of dignity
the fact that he is still alive
commands respect
respect the man is hesitant to give
until after they leave the straggler behind

somewhere in the tortured and fading heart
of the boy's father is the willingness
to beleive that god could make good
on even this seeming ultimate desolation
of the world
after the nuclear bomb

that mccarthy could weave this
tale this amazing allegory
is enough for me to believe in the
timeless power of imagination
and human artistry
and the link there to what is divine in us

even after experiencing the most
terrible situations
even after the desolation of the world
the child is moved by wonder and compassion
and his father is forever motivated to preserve
this last shred of human hope

something to ponder this late night in may

sufficite