If morality is but a construct of humanity, how ever does one know what is right, and not just what is hoped to be right? Or if our desires override the correctness that would be otherwise more expansive among this particular species of ours?

Or is this just another conspiracy of my own making- this idea that anything even acutely resembling an answer ever might be?

Yet, still insisting, I claim to myself that it cannot all just be madness flooding out of this skull masquerading as a larger virtue. Right? There must be, surely, some essential good within this existence, and within ourselves both in the solitary and collectively. Mustn’t there be?

I suppose a bit of the evening’s current conundrum has more to do with ideas of personal reward rather than some bigger benevolence. That the efforts towards good do not appear to reciprocate the good received. What do they say? No upright deed goes without its punishment? While occurring parallel to my own ‘righteousness’, the benefits of being horrible appear so abundant. Historically and in the contemporary, the horrid hold the hordes of hapless and vast varieties of wealth- and little seems to suggest much opportunity for a change within this human system.

This stream of thought certainly earns a gold star on the hypocrisy chart. Far from a saint, my sins while not quite innumerous, are far from absent. And not even in the ancient history of my own person, when less was known and consequences were faint, fickle or near imperceptible- I have failed and faulted, festered follies and fractured right into this modern age. And I suspect that at a minimum, more mistakes will be made. All the while baser and more self-centered motivations still hold court in my consciousness and conscience. Beyond the books and ballads, still a beast I be, and always so it shall be, even in the moments it seems little more than a splinter.

Still, I wish not to ever relieve myself of the self-projected duty towards benevolent madness. And the belief that altruism when genuine and personal contributes to the light of human spirit, even when- or especially when surrounded by bountiful darkness and dread. And not out of expectation for being granted any reprieve myself, but rather that actions and words in the directions of virtue may help others. Even folks that may not exist for centuries yet.

Arrogant, perhaps, but not without historical and personal precedent. Even in stories of complete fabrication, there are ways that the integral spirit of integrity can pass beyond the times of singular lifelines. I know this. I’ve read a good few of such tales, and who knows how many others unknown by your humble narrator have wrought and brought forth inspiration in others that have turned into bits or bounties of beneficial action in this short, simple existence of mine.

But I think now of the difference between bravado and bravery. Between the coward’s courage and the might and merit of stalwart meekness. Between making a show of some deed and the subtle, yet potent simplicity of compassionate action.

While the series of latter is what I strive for, all the formers of those listed dichotomies are certainly at home somewhere in my being, as well. Anyone who knows me, knows well enough that I can have a damned big mouth about perspectives and deeds. Thankfully, I do not and have not, and hopefully will not claim anything resembling perfection. The hypocrisy chart has enough gold stars as is. No need to cover the page entirely, if it can be helped.

Still wandering down this road of wonder, I ponder whether my addiction to the struggle is more detriment than benefit. And what level of masochism is at play when I aim to suffer in some way for these ideological causes.

Something comes to mind, said by a friend at the begin of a class she was teaching.

‘What if it were easy?’

What if these fights fought are more for vanity than integrity and vindicated valor? What if these currents were allowed instead of defied? Would that then create an insatiable dissatisfaction? Or worse, boredom? This metaphorical canine catching his metaphysical tail? What am I, with nothing to chase?

Perhaps I’ve grown fixated on good for myself, of myself- while asphyxiating ideas of benevolence more universal. Such selfishness can fester and cultivate something more malevolent, as so easily seen in our history, as well as being exemplified in events more current. Vicious righteousness, torn from innate morality and set askew to reside in insanities of our own creations.  

Or do I simply fear peace out of the trepidation of having nothing left to do?

And as these questions rattle about my head, I look about my space and realize that order need be brought to it. For you see, dear reader, before week’s end I am to host a gathering here. Something that has become part of my living legacy. And something, humbly, has been of direct benefit to others. Something yearly that is intertwined with tragedies and joys alike. Remembrances and the setting of soon to be memories, not yet occurred. A day of feast and balladry and community. Something that survived this last year, so I am obliged to believe it will carry on for years to come. And something that has grown, even with the pain that such expansions can often contain.

That and my mind for this has become depleted for the evening. And while there is much still to do, for now, I must bid you good evening. Barring complete catastrophe, I’ll see you next week. Some of you, perhaps, soon. After all, all roads lead to Arbor Day.