“a splendid virtue called disobedience”
(Oriana Fallaci, from Letter to a Child Never Born)
actually, within its circumference, I might have chosen
noble, for that’s
what it takes to bear its necessity, alone,
and never so much as in that instance, no decision, just a
tic,
thoughtless, of course, but mattering so much more, a flash
of
lightning striking, an energy of the cosmos marking
deliverance.
placidly, in countervailing compensation, hope, like the
child’s wistful
wishing, wide-eyed from under covers, silently thinking and
not
speaking, reaches out into the stillness, and fades to pale
yellow…and so
in each crucible of determination, like a bee hunting a hive
spot,
difference hovers, against the wisdom and certitude of ages
and sages.
What is there in obeisant allegiance? filling orders, timing out the day in
an overseer’s drum beat, shining boots with your tongue, or
hoping perhaps
somewhere the lightning will strike and wake us to be human.
For not to obey is to show the palm in the face of
acceptance and calm.
It is not being nice and smiley-faced as bile surges into
your mouth.
It is disrespect in the face of demeaning, shameless,
mindless authority.
It is, perhaps, the most profound and useful virtue available
to you.
