Next: microchips will be inserted in each and every one of us?

To the editor,

This Thanksgiving, many of us had noted, was cold. We didn't recall the prior year, or how cold it was. We came together, again, to remark on ordinary things, common events and usual ties. We are family; uncles and aunts, cousins and such. The children stuck together and listened in on the adults talk. Much of which was not understood by neither the children or the adults. The truth is, that too many of the adults are stuck in an immature state of mind.

One would suppose the elders amongst the family would be exempt from such juvenile projections; but no, they too, seem to be nothing more than young minds in aged bodies. Granted, we all have grown-up responsibilities; money to budget, families to support. But for the most part, we lack a certain ability, a certain drive.

Some of us would say that we are just your ordinary New England family getting by the best that we can. Some would look at their lives and see the value of that existence as if it were a credit score: Taking inventory of the vehicles, homes, flat-screen TVs, and other toys as proof to them that they're doing alright. But still, we lack a certain drive.

We are driven by wants, almost entirely. Working for years to accumulate them, losing sleep at the thought of losing them, refinancing them to acquire more of them. We, it seems, do not lack that drive. It is present in all of our lives, this mad dash for pleasure and gratification. By watching, standing around a fire fueled by nineteenth century, hand hewn beams, I can see the exhausted greyhound after his futile attempt to catch the mechanical rabbit, in the faces of my kin.

No, we really haven't matured yet. Life has become something to be avoided. Dodging the challenges by ducking into the closest chain store. Eluding the questions by letting the television give us new, more important ones. Rewarding ourselves when the transient elation of our last purchase has worn off. Perpetual children. Sheltered from the ugly truths by a gleaming white facade. All of us staring up at a wall of perfect smiles; life's collection of toothpaste advertisements stacked together as to ensure us that all is well, all is as it should, and ever will be. Guided by whom?

The passion for living has been removed from us and has been replaced with a neurotic need for status. Whether it's a stupid "smart" car, a pure bred dog, or the latest electronic doohickey; we act as if we cannot function without these things.

In fact, getting these things seems to be our only visible function. After we finally get a thing, we then can talk to each other about it, often virtually, rather than face to face, influencing the other to follow suit and buy a thing too.

And as our children witness this behavior they too will feel the need to fill their dwellings when their time comes. The process, of course, already having taken hold by a number of years of birthday presents and Christmas gifts, carefully planned by the calender (the most clever of all schemes ever devised, second only to money). With rules and objectives as if this life were nothing more than a board game. Where the main point is to play. Everything else within the game is secondary. Life is the routine.

Yes, we clearly lack a certain drive. It isn't so hard to get us all to assemble on a lawn or around a fire. The difficulties lie in why? Because that's what families do? Okay. That's what families do. It's probably what they've done for millions of years. But the topics of conversation bounced around in this day and age have me begging the question, why? We aren't saying anything, only commenting on a fake reality; critiquing shadows on the wall. Forever acting as if we understand what has been shown. Delving as far as our conditioning allows us to, then safely returning to the present, where life is not so much lived, but led.

Certain domestic animals are driven. Driven, not by a wild, natural motivation, but driven by the shepherd and his dogs. Of course, it's much more than mere mental manipulation that urges the flock from one field to the next. Force, eventually, is also used. It becomes troublesome, to the ones who give us our topics of conversation, when one or more of us doesn't go along with the rest. The conflict: The few encouraging some of the rest to think, "Why is he not doing this?", or "What makes her so unwilling to participate?" A situation they, the shepherd and their well paid cadre of brute motivators, are well prepared to deal with. After all, they are not shy to use cattle prods and other "non-lethal" methods to make examples out of those who get in the way. And more often than not, "non-lethal" methods have a way of becoming all too lethal.

But where is it that we are all stampeding toward? To answer that, one must first step out of TV land, the present day Plato's Cave, and ask themselves, who am I? That's a toughie. Especially when, judging from current dialogue, most of us are nothing more than composites of popular culture. Whether it's a frantic devotion to sports, memorization of meaningless scenarios played out in TV fiction or the fascination of macabre art, be it music, photography, sculpture or otherwise, we really haven't left much room upstairs for who we are. Who we are. Not what we've adopted via schooling, TV, magazines, radio or molded word of mouth.

Yes, this Thanksgiving there were less homemade desserts. Less age old wisdom passed on from our older members. The children still romped about the yard; something I used to do with those around me whom now unload useless data concentrically, until the inevitable dirty quip, leading us all into a new round of babble. Memories of youth flood the mind like lumps of sod stuffed into municipal culverts. For our dammed waters would sometimes breach Bean Hill Rd. The older members of us found true joy in riding up the road as far as we dared on borrowed bicycles, and flew downhill with just enough danger induced fear to ensure that we'd have a firm grip on the handlebars. Whereas the youngest of us got the same thrill on the lawn with nothing but our own two God-given feet. We'd even ride those bikes straight into our handmade reservoir if the water was deep enough to promise a thorough soaking, and if our life force was particularly strong on that day. We didn't wear helmets. Sometimes we fell and got hurt, but that was a risk and a ritual of our troupe. We all got banged up enough to learn from our mistakes. Sometimes we learned lessons of respect while getting caught tearing off asphalt shingles, perched upon the barn roof, winging them at each other like Chinese throwing stars. Real live memories of real moments experienced, as only a child could, clings to me as the burdock does to shoelaces.

That spirit of our children is now being tamed and subjugated by the most rigorous methods, implemented on every level, to make sure we don't overcome the omnipresent problems we all now face. For they, the infamous they, know that this spirit, that we all possess, is the one hurdle that stands in their way. Utter annihilation of that which makes us us is what they need if they are to propel this new world order of theirs to the next platform. Where brain implants and RFID microchips are inserted into each and every one of us. Sold as the cure-all to correct all that is "wrong" with us. A mandate: The supplied panacea to bypass the ever increasing inconveniences. An incredibly small machine, linked to the largest, latest form of technological weaponry, made solely for the purpose of relieving us all of the burdens of life: The control of our own thoughts, hopes, fears, joys, sorrows, decisions...

Many small steps have brought us to this epochal precipice, for gradualism, by the workings of an elite for many generations, is a fail proof method of holding power. "Reality control", as Orwell put it, is very simple to maintain. "Who controls the past", he so plainly wrote, "controls the future: who controls the present controls the past." So who controls the present? And is the "great leap for mankind" the allegorical joke against the lemming majority? Because if we swallow the carefully crafted gobbledygook of communitarianism, unification, oneness or whatever other marketing term they choose to use, we are helping them in the "Great Work" of a transformed humanity. The end of the individual; the end of the self. And sadly, many will welcome it. But I can assure you that those few of us with a natural instinct for self preservation will not be among the slew waiting for their chip. Just as we few will not blindly prop up the pretense of well informed involvement by discussing, so called, "current events". The steady stream of syndicated persuasion, gossip, trivia and headline hobnob cannot affect us. We cannot be pacified. Our minds cannot be contaminated by the constant influx of crap information. We will not allow our thoughts to be compromised; not in the least. We will need every last ounce of life to fight evil. We know what we have chosen and we know that there is no greater cause.

Derek Case

Belmont