Conspiring to Believe?

Cough, cough, splutter, sniff, A-Tisch-OO

Coo, dusty here isn't it?

I know, I haven't been here for ages; busy, busy, you know how it is.  Today I was musing (bad habit that) and my brain wandered off into one of those strange mazes where you turn random corners, hit dead ends and generally chase your own thoughts until suddenly you reach the centre and find....

Usually something you had never imagined.

Or is that just me?

Today I wandered off on conspiracy theories.

What is it about conspiracies that make them so attractive?

I was introduced by a colleague to a web-site that declares it has 'proof' that the 9/11 attacks were carried out by the American government to give them a reason to invade Iraq.

Now for me, the horrible terrorist attacks that the world has been subjected to are bad enough if they are the product of the workings of deluded souls who believe there is no other way to achieve 'freedom' or 'God's will'.  To believe that a government would be willing to murder thousands of random people just to have a reason to start a war that would kill hundreds more people is down-right frightening.   I don't want to even think about it let alone believe it.  But some people do. 

So what makes this sort of conspiracy theory so attractive?  Perhaps it is the fact that it provides motives and meanings for events that, however horrible, are ones we can grasp as being to some extent understandable.  The fact that it either frees us from any responsibility (I didn't vote for them so it can't be my fault) or gives back an illusion of control (This organisation can bring them down and stop it happening again, join us!).

So how old are conspiracy theories?  Well, looking though history they seem to have existed as long as man.  After all, what are Gods but the ultimate conspiracy theory?  'He/She must be a bad person or God wouldn't punish them' seems to be a recurrent theme.  The Roman and Greek gods were very human in there spiteful behaviour towards people and the echoes of that thinking seem to appear in modern 'superpower' theories.  Think of the Da Vinci code,  the 'Men in Black', etc..  All have 'technology' or 'power' beyond the norm; modern day magic and miracles?  One thinks 'no, that is rubbish' while those nettles of plausibility raise stinging blisters on ones certainty.

Whether there is a God who is more than an antique conspiracy theory I leave to you to decide.  If you are a true believer then may your God bless you and care for you.

Me, I find the thought of all these terrible things happening while there is an omnipotent, omniscient being in charge even more terrifying than the idea of a power-crazy, shadowy organisation bent on ruling the world having the sort of power often attributed to them by the latest conspiracy theory.  To each their own.  I give you free permission to laugh at me when we are all queueing up on Judgement Day.

The Challenge

J.L. and I decided to play a scrabble-like game and to use the first 10 words played in a poem.  The words produced are:

HOAR HIRED BOWER WHITE LUTED RAVE WILDS SANDY LOVED BEDIGHTS

an interesting mix to say the least.

Here is my effort.

A lonely mermaid longed to sit

in a fragrant, floral bower

but walked only on sandy spit

where never grew any flower.

The North wind longed to woo the maid

so hired Jack Frost one chilly night

to freeze the water the waves sprayed

into fresh blooms with hoar of white.

Soft zephyrs luted gentle airs

on frozen strands of spun sea spray

and drew the mermaid from her cares

to see the reason for the play.

Such beauty turned the maiden’s head

and she danced with the wind that night

but in the morning she had fled

his harsh, cold touch filled her with fright.

If you are walking on the shore

when Jack bedights the land with frost

the wilds are filled with rave and roar

North Wind cries that he loved and lost.

I'll leave comments up to you.......

Moon Path

We met beneath the pale moon light,

the world was bleached to black and white,

the wind stirred the sea into foam

in that soft night of monochrome.

We set our footprints in the sand

and watched as they washed from the land

and laughed at how quickly they went,

as brief as the time that we spent.

The wind grew less as the moon dipped,

we stood where the waves gently lipped

at our bare toes and there at last

my lips met yours and vows were passed.

The moon so low it seemed to drown

then cast a solid carpet down

across the waves right to our feet

there, where the land and ocean meet.

That picture’s engraved on my heart,

I do not grieve when we must part,

that golden path will always be

the road that brings you back to me.