29th March 2020

We are in cast into ocean of repercussion and consequence, hopes buoyed by naught but the cork vestment of broken promises, held tight by the rusting straps and buckles of past commitment. The distance from liner to land is far, the insufficient boats lifeboats already filled to capacity, rescue a faint and distant glimmer beyond our horizon.

The iceberg is not new, she had existed as long as ice had formed in the ocean, her size and position changing according to wind and current, but her threat is ever present submerged dark and menacing beneath the surface. Man is a species out of place, a stranger on the ocean, as lost in the jungle as he is exposed on plain or mountain. He is designed for the forest, high in the branches, secure from the terrors of a planet that promises nothing but danger, calamity and pestilence. Master of nothing, an almost toothless predator in a hard-leathery world, thankfully he exists upon the fruits that grow abundant on and about his home.  A creature with minimal chance of expansion yet an unquenchable desire to procreate, he is a perfect storm leading to either annihilation or adapted supremacy. Dangerously he is given cunning and a brain capable of almost unfettered expansion.

Creatures are inclined to grow strong, adapting physically according to their needs, but humankind is a new breed, a wholly unique adaption who constantly acquires layered skill sets, each new variance gifting him added control individually and as a group  over competing species and the environment, seemingly of the very planet itself.

A being set so high and powerful, if not omnipotent himself could easily be persuaded to think himself the rightfully chosen, beyond challenge and reproach. Mankind thus created for himself the universally recognizable role of archangel awaiting certain fall from grace to purgatory.

Today I present for you an intriguing fable, commencing in the Atlantic as the Titanic, mankind’s most opulent  maritime achievement,  founders and sinks at the behest of but a few gallons of liquid frozen into solid form and finishing with the Almighty’s own son, the archangel Lucifer,   being cast, wrapped in golden chains, from his honored place in high heaven into the foulest pit of hell for the most heinous of sins,  pride.

As those of you who read my musing regularly will already know I am not inclined to fill in the dots, considering that obviousness to be unnecessary in such exalted company as your good selves.

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