Beautiful Monster

Recently I was part of a conversation discussing what we, as humans, are really capable of.

What would I do in a plane crash in the Andes Mountains type of situation. Answer: Sorry Doug... I get hungry enough, and you're already dead, I'm carving up a slice of your thigh with a side of Caracaras eggs for breakfast. Yes... I would eat you to survive. And y'know what? If I'm dead and good meat... eat away, my fine friend. Just cut away my hippie locks and use it to scare the buzzards away. I'm cool with that, capiche?

What would I do to someone who hurt my loved ones in a very violent way; eg., rape, murder, etc.?
Answer: After thoughtful consideration, I've decided it's best I DON'T answer this one in a public forum. Suffice to say, my revenge would be served cold and there would be prolonged periods of tremendous agony that I would take great joy in inflicting upon the individual responsible. All of which involve a fun assortment of modern power tools and old farming implements. See me at a con sometime and keep the tape recorder off and we'll share a beer and talk. Until then... naah.

So... emergency situation or not, what are we truly capable of?

Look around you. Driving in traffic. Sitting on the bus. Beside you in the oak pews of church. Those people. That skinny guy over in the corner buying a dirty magazine. The old woman with the faded flower-print dress, flicking a cantaloupe to see if it's ripe. That timid coffee shop girl who smiles sweetly as she pours you a third refill.

They're all monsters.

Given the right circumstances, those people would do whatever the hell they had to in order to survive. Oh sure, there are lots who would mentally crumple into a ball of rubbish and that would be that. The ones that are left... well honey... those are the ones that feed and live. They're the ones that do whatever they have to do in order to keep breathing and looking at the sun one more day.

I'm capable of the worst actions a person can do, and also for finding the wonder in the tiniest of things. Capable of devising and creating beautiful things, and of self destruction at the highest levels possible.

I'm capable of committing the worst atrocities and breaking all manner of sins against God... but also shattering the emotional confines humans have to show what our hearts can truly deliver.

I'm empathetic and sympathetic and selfish and greedy and I share my cookies and hide my gold all in the same day.

I am Brahma the Creator and Shiva the Destroyer wrapped up in a recyclable cellophane wrapper with an indefinite shelf life.

I crave revenge and thrive on peace and I envy and lust and am prideful sometimes. I want to unleash my wrath and sic Richard Simmons on my gluttony and yet I still sing my children to sleep.

I'm loyal and brave and I betray and cower and even though I know my direction, I still wander like a child lost in a cornfield.

I give and I take and I open my heart and then skirt its borders with sky high walls.

I am ugly and beautiful and am a stewed mix of good and evil.

I weep at certain songs and my mind hardens at times and I still long for tender moments. I trust almost no one and open my heart to many and have kissed new life and held the hand of old death and am haunted by the memory of both.

I walk in darkness and light and among the shadows in between and come out whistling dixie on the other side.

I do all these things and more... and less. But I know and accept what I'm capable of. It's a choice. It's always a choice. But we're all capable. It's our own individual pendulums we have to pay attention to in order to administer balance.

It's the human condition. Accept it or don't. But you are what you are.

My name is Bob Ford and like all of you, I am a beautiful monster.