Geological activity in southern Iceland was in the news today, 2018 FEB 14 WED on CBSN. And so is this blog back which featured its first and only article on 2010 APR 21 WED on how one volcano stranded unsuspecting, commercial airlines passengers and their pitiable predicament:
This was the first and only post on this blog for this long. Today’s new post with this update changes it. More posts on the way.
The Eyjafjallajokull volcano in southern Iceland tests the humankind on its chosen path, of being “scattered” across the globe. Certainly, this was not the meaning of the term, “the global village” as in a “true” village, one would not be worried about the return path home, because, the village is the home, a missed point thus far.
When one treads far from home, hogging upon technological advances (don’t ever take the ballpoint pen for granted, and taking a jet plane for granted then that would be a stretch), one then must be true explorer with no fears that one is on the Moon and the rocket malfunctioned, as then one must look back, to go forward to back home. One aspect, when one falsely attributes the globe to a village (synonymously) is that one has ridden piggyback to some point and tech ported oneself, not on one’s bipeds. One is often marooned in the “modern” world.
And “often,” I say. One’s phone not working? One finds oneself suddenly on an island! Is the internet down? More marooned one finds oneself! Car trouble? Now one is truly marooned even at home, sometimes! We build a home but we are seldom home. And without a vehicle, we can’t enjoy one of our most realized dream, a well-made home.
Therefore, the concept of the global village is adorable, at its best. And one then just finds out, that one’s birthplace is ComplexCity, in which citizenship is a pure piling profound pain, and passports and visas don’t necessarily bring you home, because oneself was disinclined in “the first place” to accept the dirt earth as one’s home, even if home away from home. Therefore, try to make oneself comfortable where one’s stationed for moments or a millennium, and let that be or not be a home, and one cannot be a homesick world wanderer when one dared to leave home at all.
Given our planetary proportions, one is at best a Lilliputian. A Lilliputian who’s obliviously shut from one’s walking village in a closet called home, daring to call the globe a village does not ever shrink the globe, and diminish the distance one must dread to tread when jets or horses fail to lend their power to bring one home. Most don’t know their neighbor or neighborhood, staking a claim to a global village.
Being a Lilliputian is not one’s fault, but having and harboring Lilliputian thoughts … “Honey, I shrunk the world, all from my armchair, but now I can’t even get up and walk to our garden, let alone my new found axiom of a global village.” Making an armchair, an airport a trap! Difference? Adios, Amigos. Ciao.