When the World Was Quiet

When the world was quiet and life moved with grace, time measured by seasons and years instead of minutes, and people saw the world as close by, with foreign lands far away, another universe, not quite real, not quite true-- then the mind could rest, enjoy the simple pleasures of family and friends and old neighbors to share old tales.... Life was taken slowly then, no faster than a carriage ride, and evil belonged mainly in crusty books of ancient times. There was no rancor, no bile stirred by relentlessly biting news that chews at the soul like the devil's own pitchfork. There was no magic screen to capture you slave-like and bound for barren lands filled with children starving, babes dying before they walked, and War and Disease and Death all coming through an open door. Once we trod the earth unshod and breathed the virgin air and sang love songs to God in heaven and saw others as brothers, some lost, others newly found, all to be welcome, all to be heard and seen. Now we see the other as less than, as missing our noble sweetness-- sure we have found the truth and those who do not march alongside, must march against us-- we need no god to be on our side to know what must be done for justice.... A poet like Emily could write in peace though a terrible slaughter raged far away, its madness slow to reach her ears, giving her time to let it sweep her untamed soul. But she could not breathe today, her spirit smothered by the loss of distance and time and mercy. When the world was quiet and life moved with grace, we had a sense of ourselves, our footing in this world, our dreams of the next....