Being Willing

Love thy neighbour as thyself

-Jesus of Nazareth-

An ancient text says "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long....". powerpuffgirl asked powerpuffmom, in whose image she was 90% replicated, whether this blessing / admonishment would apply to honouring of another's father and mother. Reason being that powerpuffgirl has been tasked with general oversight of the household, again, whilst all the other competent adults are away. Said household has 3 flu-plagued old folks and said overseer has the same cold. Being a superhero necessitates that powerpuffgirl is immune to all drugs and medicinal remedies available, though apparently she is not immune to contracting nasty flu bugs once everyone else begins to recover.

And it wasn't that they didn't have other, perfectly able-bodied sons and daughters to look after them. It's just that powerpuffgirl was there, it was kinda convenient for her, even when it wasn't always convenient. But it doesn't really matter what other people do or choose. The world we live in is one in which the few are often carrying burdens of the many. It's a fact of life we can either rail against or redeem. The global economic crisis, which powerpuffgirl is beginning to suspect is being used by unscrupulous multinationals to costcut at the expense of the ordinary men-on-the-street's livelihoods, is a fine example. The increasing divide between the wealthy (of which there are a greater number than ever before) and the poor - not underprivileged - let's be brutally honest - people living in chicken coops dirt poor - is a result of self-pursuits.

There are more 21st century kings, but still their fabulously rich dynasties remain just that - inward looking, self gratifying dynasties. Even with some of the clearly uncommon advantages afforded to these chosen few, with the tearing down of racial, cultural and social boulders and the rise of democracy, merit, and human rights, we find that there are still children working in modern industrial factories. Now they don't make matchsticks, but running shoes. There are still dictators killing their own citizens and whole governments who proclaim democracy and spend billions of hard earned tributes from their citizens, on creating, not resolving conflicts. Now we don't kill in the hundreds of thousands, but in the millions. They say that we study history in order to learn from it. But what are we learning?

Sometimes all we need is a little reminder that we are dust. That one day, all our dreams will fade, whether we accomplished them or not, our cars will rust, bodies return to the earth, and if we are fortunate, our stories, our legacy of memories and deeds and words, might be preserved for some future generation to sift through. There is no subjective standard when it comes to the treatment of another creature. We devise new excuses. We justify the defense of ourselves, our lands, and forget to ask ourselves what makes it ours. Man cannot seal up the flaw in his inherent nature, until he surrenders to a law greater than himself and his own needs.

Recently, in a visit to elderly relatives, powerpuffgirl found herself at a rickety sink, washing up dirty eating utensils and pots. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't to be despised either. The thought crossed her mind that those same soapy hands played the piano, twirled drumsticks, picked out tunes on ridiculously expensive guitars. They were responsible for writing what often influenced millions of dollars, determined the course of important international decisions. They'd been held and were desired to be held by any number of admirers, friends and little adoring kid cousins. They were strong, slender, soft hands that were made to change the world, or so powerpuffgirl liked to think, on the really good days. And yet, they scratched the dog behind its ears and washed up too-old, worn-down, scratched-filled pots for sick people who were too weak to bother if the pieces of leftover chicken were stuck to the bottom of the container.

Its strange how one instrument can be so humble and yet so vital. So versatile. No superpowers required. Just the earnest ability to ask "May I do this for you?" and say "Sure - I'd love to." It wasn't even intentionally altruistic. She was under orders of powerpuffmom, who, after all these years, still managed to twist powerpuffgirl's arm without actually lifting a finger, just kinda ESP-ing instructions on how to serve others. It wasn't a great thing. Heck, there were a lot of them, but they were pots. Anyone could have done it. But suddenly it felt like a privilege because it wasn't anyone, it was powerpuffgirl who got to volunteer to, for a short half hour, do something that meant nothing to her but much to others. For even the consummate idealist, there is a reality. And that reality may, in its humiliations and quiet moments, be just the reminder needed to draw a caped crusader back to her core humanity.