Sometimes (often? usually?) my best thoughts aren't my own, but those that I mine from others. This morning, before heading off for a full day, it's a joy to share some words from a mentor of words, Wendell Barry. What he says here, I agree with, without reservation. He writes:
Let me be plain with you dear reader.
I am an old faishioned man I like
the world of nature despite its mortal
dangers. I like the domestic world
of humans, so long as it pays its debts
to the natural world, and keeps its obligations.
I like the promise of Heaven. My purpose
is a language that can pay just thanks
and honor for those gifts, a tongue
set free from fashionable lies.
neitjher this world nor any of its places
is an 'environment'. And a house
for sale is not a 'home.' Economics
is not 'science', nor 'information' knowledge.
A knave with a degree is a knave. A fool
in a public office is not a 'leader.'
A rich thief is a thief....
The world is babbled to pieces after
the divorce of things from their names.
Ceaseless preparation for war
is not peace. health is not procured
by sale of medication, or purity
by the addition of poison. Science
at the bidding of corporations
is knowledge reduced to merchandise;
it is a whoredom of the mind,
and so it the art that calls this, 'progress.'
So is the cowardice that calls it 'inevitable.'
Amen... preach it Wendell