Again Thinking

These days it is difficult to not lament the human condition.

But then it must have always been so - a distant ancestor probably stood leaning on the wall of his cave looking out over the plain lamenting the human(?) condition.

Most of our myths and legends incorporate at least one tale in which the hero has to solve riddles or answer trick questions in order to survive. Asking the wrong questions could mean death of the individual and his/her family. When persons of great responsibility wrongly answered such questions personal and national suffering ensued.

Our questions today are no less tricky - can we say he has weapons of mass destruction? For example.

When our leaders ask either the wrong questions or get the answers wrong there is also loss of life and great suffering , but today batteries of minders immediately swing into action to ensure plausible explanations and plan strategies of recuperation where the buck is subtly passed elsewhere.

I have always been drawn by the simplicity of the direct question, the straight forward answer and the immediate reward/punishment scenario. The Sphinx has been for me a symbol of the human condition, that part of ourselves which questions our most secret selves and judges without hiding behind self pity. We are all Oedipus when we confront our internal Sphinx but even when we get the answer correct it does not necessarily mean the story will end happily.

The Sphinx (after Cocteau)

I

if not the sun, then the rains wash
us into suffering, as always the gods
forget, we are mortal after all
capable of small lust, great expectation
and contempt: the pharaohs built
their monuments in sand, today we
understand their geometry
if not intent, regret the loss
of need for monuments. a sphinx
walks the twilight land smiling
as we drown in questions of our own.

II

to have met the sphinx, noted shaded eyes
coolly assess the possibilities,
is to have dreamt aloud, known again
laius succeeded and the young child
died on some mountainside. antigone
waits to be born to her fated end.
or else the sphinx reborn
taunts our growing arrogance
with one short swipe, " the life
I lent, you've almost spent".


from After the Hard Hours, This Rain
Woodrose Publication, Singapore 1975