Have we learned to listen?

When Cassandra refused the attentions of Apollo after he gifted her the ability to see the future, he cursed her. Not even her own father would listen to her warnings of what Paris’ presence would do to Troy, and when she warned him not to accept the gift of a Trojan horse, she was disbelieved, with horrific consequences. Speaking truth to power has always been a dangerous business. In ancient times, the only person who could speak truth to power, was the fool. Even today, those who warn are often dismissed as hysterics and either laughed at or silenced. It is too awkward to acknowledge signs of suffering and address them. Instead, we withdraw into the sanctuary of our cars and lock the doors of our houses. We see the flicker of flames on our screens and switch channel. It is too difficult to face what our aspirations cost and so we hide from the evidence. Step lightly over the discarded plastic that litters our beaches and slowly strangles our planet. Salve our consciences by flinging a few pennies in the direction of the poor.

Yet, though human voices are silenced, every corporate entity has a vision. Carefully chosen words that encapsulate aspirations that mere mortals would struggle to achieve, even if they understand them. And whilst people stop and attempt to decipher the hieroglyphics that guard these entrances, so that they might just one day try and meet them, others barge past them, ignoring the thin spidery guards, and making their own way in a warm fog of flashbulbs. Any tugs on their arm are rudely shrugged off, and they loudly shout down any voices that whisper caution. Instead, they play to the gallery, announcing their presence with drills that shake the earth, yachts that churn up mud from the base of rivers and planes that leave trails of carbon dioxide in the sky. And, as they laugh and mock the little people who stand at the door, still trying to decipher the rules, the people at the door see flashes of glittering jewellery and hear the roar of triumph and re-double their efforts to understand the statements that guard the door so they can get in too.

And as they focus on the words, the traffic drowns out the sound of the animals fleeing their homes as developers churn up the land, the rising chirrup of locusts in the Middle East and the crackle of the fire that lights the dry tinder in the bush. The scent of perfume emanating from the inner sanctum drenches the smell of smoke that comes from the forest and the stench of sewage from the sea. Hours are spent trying to decipher the vision and meet its standards as children beg for attention, and the crackle of the fire gets louder. Some children start to hear it, to warn us, but they are dismissed. For they are young, they too need to understand the vision, the mission.

They must turn their eyes away from the world and turn to the statements in front of them so they can aspire to them in their turn.

So we all dutifully spend time reading the vision statements as the world’s roars increase in volume. Water begins to lap at the feet of the people still diligently trying to decipher the vision, and we look to the words to tell them how to keep out. But the words don’t mention the water directly, so we are forced to focus on it even more to try and find out its true meaning. Our backs become singed with fire, and we huddle closer to the words for protection. But the neat inscriptions on the board do not mention such phenomenon. Eventually, we give up and return to our homes. At first the party inside carries on, as the people who have ignored the vision remain fixated on upstaging the person next to them. Then some of them start to notice the silence outside. They feel uneasy. Why are they no longer trying to interpret the vision? What is wrong?

A couple throw a few shouts of encouragement out the door, exhorting the masses to do more. Others start to murmur in fear and call their bankers to ensure that the funds that enable them to be here are still in place. A few start to yell and shout to cover the other sounds that are coming from outside. For the world has started to behave in unexpected ways. It clearly needs to be controlled. Orders need to be given. Lands need to be enclosed.

And animals need to be put in cages so we can admire their beauty without fear. We must reassert our mastery.

At home, we try to dutifully decipher words, curves, work out how to do the right thing. As we do, the roar of traffic diminishes. The cries of our children grow more insistent. We start to hear the chirping of birds. On our walks, we notice the buds on the branches, the sparrows playing in the hedges and the rainbows in the windows. And we start to wonder if there is a better way. A future where vision is something that is lived, rather than asserted through lifeless statements. We start to notice the strength of the people who have been mocked as weak. The carers. The assistants. The ones whose ambitions lay somewhere else.

Those in the inner sanctum will continue to shout but their promises have taken on a vaguely hysterical air. We pause to admire the beauty of the moon, hanging low in the evening sky, only to hear that it is valuable as a mineral deposit. In the past, we may have nodded in agreement, distracted by our main task to interpret the vision statements that guarded the entrance to the inner sanctum, but now we start to wonder why anyone would want to despoil something so beautiful. The question now is if we have finally learned to listen.