Sam and Dave Part 3

Greetings,

One day I’m sitting in the garden balcony. There’s an invisible guy next door and they have an infant. He raises his voice. People yell here. It’s normal like breathing. They get yelled at when they are kids, like the man yelling at his infant until the kid balls. Tears stream until mother rescues her darling from the emotional abuse. Yelling affects their self-esteem and their well being. Children will learn how to reject this yeller. How to close down. 

They, in turn will learn to raise their voice in a whining, demanding yelling overture. They will be passive, then turn on the yell. As they age they turn off. They turn off their ears. Their ears are assaulted non stop 24/7. The volume control is broken. They grow up to be non-listeners. Never engaged unless marriage and procreation reaction recreation speaks.

The adult savors this power. It’s a throwback to his parents, a generation raised with fear and intimidation and suspicion and insecurity and poverty and informers and empty promises and empty hope and loud voices. Some voices are real and some are pure nightmares.

Hope is the last thing that dies, yells his wife. Take out the garbage fat man. Lose face idiot. Hide your shame. Raise your voice like a flag of authority. Signal your displeasure with the infants. Get them in line. Shape them up because you can’t ship them out. You will raise them to yell with the best of them.

They will yell and bellow like stuck pigs bleating sheep cackling crows breaking palm branches sending shivers down your spineless self pity, with regrets and anger and fear manifesting inside narrow tight lives under long florescent lights, this shattering glare.

They will grow up to be passive-aggressive yellers. They will bury you and take your photo to the artist who will memorize your face. They will look you in the frozen face and give you offerings of fruit and water. They burn incense so your spirit has something to eat, so it will not be angry and return yelling, demanding, pleading. 

One day in the not-too-distant future your dead ancestors will learn to make sounds, then words, phrases, sentences called talk, then louder until they will achieve the decibels required to re-join the family. They will compete in yelling contests with talking monkeys.

Someone - a parent, boss, lover, stranger - will yell at them and they will ignore old yeller. Doesn’t matter who it is, family or friend. Ignore the human, beasts and gods. Old yeller will yell again, a little louder. No answer. 

I wait for them to really get their yell going, louder says the listener, hiding inside silence.

Metta.