Spaces Between Us

THE internet and the outer-net. Humanity is a mystifying evolution. An expostulating progression of reflex and response, action and reaction. Yet do we know what's going on? Are we going forward or sliding backward? Or maybe immobile and stationary within our four-walled caves? Our transformation from earth-fed creatures of fire, wind and air to a convergence of names and tags in an electronic universe has been quick and sure yet seemingly unnoticed and, well, embraced. We found so many ways to extract us away from what we perceive as the growing evil in people's chest as well as the continued degradation of the environment, which can only be blamed on us.

          So how do we connect? How do we talk? We don't. We simply send both cryptic lines and colorful symbolisms of what we decide to reveal about us, one-click. Then we hide the rest. Yet we also share so much of ourselves that we don't know anymore which is fact from fiction, and vice versa. It's a Reality TV world we are enmeshed in. Like drugs or pills, we are okay—as long as we are takin' them in. It's essentially free.

          I can post maybe 2,000 words a day, replete with cute visuals and other images that say something about me. But do you really know me? I can send out and share poetry like I am serenading muses with the deepest of my heart. But am I connecting? And since we already created a web of precautionary tales, red flags and warning signals in our respective batcaves—as brought about by unmitigated hard life of a continually demanding existence—it has become weirder and “stupider” (sic!) to extend a heart. We need to protect us from ourselves. Everything is an object of fear, doubt, suspicion. Even an enfeigned smile could be too good to be true, or an invite to watch birds on Beaver Lake is a disguised pass to a quickie? It's sad. Everybody's scared yet everybody's “exposed.”

          We want to know people but it is not that easy or spontaneous anymore. Even a choice of food, the way we choose our words, or the manner we look at our hair color are cause/s to build more barriers, more reasons to be frightened. Organization isn't easy anymore although we always mouth the words community, universe and Namaste! How do we know us if we don't see eye to eye? See us maybe once in four weeks or maybe once in three months—we can email, text, share posts and “visit” us on Facebook anyway.

          I long for the good old days. But the good old days are gone. We all gravitate to our comfortable, well-equipped armour that is the internet. We have 5,000 “friends.” We even tracked down people we haven't seen since high school, long lost kin as well. And we all meet in here—likes and shares and forwards and follows. Then it's time to sleep. And then, we wake up with cheerful trees and insistent squirrels and noisy crows outside the window. As our finger, by reflex, clicks on the iPhone or the laptop, and check things out. Check on the world—in that tiny gadget.

          Where is humanity? Where are they? Maybe the person beside you is even clicked on that blinking little universe—same as you, consumed. And then the trees outside beckon, call. Oh well. I wish I could bring my heart out there, get washed by rain and pummeled by storm. The blood, the brokenness make me human. I breathe, I gasp, I live. I long for that pain in the same way that I long for that joy. Hurt that I could feel and joy that I could touch.