I’m feeling a bit like a dried-up sandwich – all curled up at the edges – after a tumultuous few days. There is so much out there, good, bad and downright ugly, that I have no intention of adding to it all except to post this poem by W B Yeats – The Second Coming which an infinitely more accomplished author than I, Kate Mosse, posted on Twitter today. For me, it sums up an ever-shifting situation.
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
There are and will continue to be, winners and losers from events this week (including English football) – no-one ever promised that life would be fair but the potential lies within all of us to make it as humane, decent and caring as we are able. Winners take note; Losers take heart.