On the yellow lights and burning suns
Pedestrians must wait for the white crosswalk signal at the intersection near my workplace. Cars, meanwhile, turn with the freedom that the green light gives them. When the light turns yellow, pedestrians hold their breath. Some of them had already stepped into the street, but they were wrong to go too fast because the motorists do not slow down. When the light finally turns red, it is not uncommon to see people hurry to press the gas pedal not to miss the turn.
It’s always the same thing, really. There are always people who break the rules, go the extra mile, and take their chances, ignoring the basic rules of caution.
I have learned not to trust the illuminated white man’s permission to cross the street. I wait a few more seconds, ensuring the human archetypes behind their wheel get the message.
Is this any different from anything else on Earth? Has climate change already turned yellow? Never mind, we’re putting on weight. Do we gain weight? Maybe after this fatty meal, we will think about stopping stuffing ourselves? And what about this virus that is already making us sweat? Why not wait a little longer, take our chances, have fun with the hopes that the devil is breathing down our necks?
It will always be too late, one day. Still, our species will do as it has done since Nature endowed it with an inevitable desire for conquest and adventure. The yellow light has never really scared us. Perhaps it allows the wisest or the most fearful to survive, but glory is the prerogative of the bold. It’s almost in our DNA.
All the same. Is it indispensable to take pride in our eternal adolescence? It’s a difficult question. I understand the adventure, the insistence on living. We are, after all, only naive Icarus. Poets have been singing for ages about the tragic fate of the black light burning our wings.
A little more, I would be the apostle of all transgressions. Our freedom is built, however, by strengthening the life around us. There is a way to sing without breaking ears. There is a way to love without having to hate and think of others because others will think well of us. We can dance by learning how to avoid wounds as much as possible. We can approach the sun by protecting our eyes.
The reckless fools obviously remain fools. They can’t see further than the end of their nose, and breathing a larger air does not occur to them. They are blind people who drift like drunkards who have lost their inhibitions.
Am I wise or fearful? I can understand Plato, who wanted to make philosophers the guardians of the kingdom. History has shown us that this is an illusion. Even if wise men were to get angry more often, they would not stop feeling guilty for wanting to impose their certainties. It is not uncommon for them to hurry to move on.
I leave it to Reality because it is eternal, and its indifference is the measure of our unawareness. I, sitting on the floor of the universe, open my eyes to the stars. Is there somewhere near a star turned red, intelligent beings who still don’t care about the colour of their sun?
