History does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes. I watch the recent doings in Eastern Europe and see it in Iambic Pentameter: intriguing, but hardly exciting. I have heard similar rhythms before, but these are not so intense. The players and raconteurs lack passion.
The time is not right.
What the world is witnessing is the inevitable result of a power vacuum. Putin’s Russia may not be as powerful as the combined might of the west, but it is powerful enough to act in the face of those naive enough to believe their own desire for peace means everyone desires peace. I have heard similar songs before, but I also know my adopted homeland remains incomparably mighty. Skeptics may disagree, but those in power know the truth.
So on my Three-Thousand-Five-Hundred-and-Fortieth birthday, those words above constitute all the thought I care to spend on the news of the day. I am about my own things today, watching my own slow planning take root with hope for a better future. I already live in a virtual utopia: I know where I will sleep tonight, I know I will eat tomorrow and I am confident I will not be assaulted, accosted, murdered or enslaved in the foreseeable future. For most of human history only the most powerful, or the most naïve, could say such a thing.