Oprah and the End of the World

The sky was an endless rich azure blue with only a few translucent veils of clouds in the far distance. The crescent moon hung low in the sky and was only just visible to my eyes over the crest of the massive coral coloured sand dune, a wave of sand in an ocean of desert.

The sun was brilliant as its light painted the desert including the ancient sun bleached dead tree that lay nearby with its remaining few branches reaching toward the sky like large craggy gnarled fingers.

I walked upon the sand at the base of the dune towards the tree that had become simply dead wood. The hot desert wind caressed my skin drawing away the sweat. Before me upon the ground beside the tree was a carcass with flies crawling, feasting and flying. The insect buzz reaching my ears just before the stench of decomposition touched my nose.

A shadow moved over the sand, the carcass and yes, me, and I looked up to find descending quickly, a large vulture. It took its place upon the horizontal trunk of the whitened half buried dead tree. Its talons sharp on the wood and its eyes cast upon me but for an instant then it turned to the carcass its meal.

The great bird began to eat among the flies of the carcass. While all of this is remarkable what came to pass was more so. The flies and the vulture died as I observed within mere moments. The death they so cherished in the flesh they ate had now consumed them, a prey poisoned becomes a hunter, the death stalker.

I shivered at the sight even while burning in the face of the desert sun. Yet again I, even I, saw yet another storm begin as the sun disappeared in darkness and the wind and the sand began the transformation as it had since the Fall in the Garden when the light was obscured by the darkness.

Such does the story flow forth as truth lays vulnerable in love-lies cloaked as truth. Really no different than the urgent swelling request of the man promising the woman he shall love and respect her in the morning.

Our world of post modern Oprahism (Oprah gone wild Oprahnish), democracy and equal rights taken by some to mean all truth is equal and all values simply different but still the same. All under the veneer of love as such love poisons the truth. Niceness wrapped in the folds of love really a dead body mummy wrapped, a rotten corpse secreted but still dead.

While it may not always be best to utilize truth as a hammer but as a scalpel love is not love when it denies truth. Popularization as well as the currency of pop culture icons and iconoclasts matter not in the wind, sand and sun of the desert of time the realm of truth.

Decipher this unto me, who is who and what is what and why does it matter?

Now let us walk along the sands with MAX

DANGER do NOT click here.