No Mast High Enough, No Bridge Too Old: The Void of Bezos

At this point, it is predictable, "normal" when land-water-sky-plant species-animal species-community-peoples-cultures-the self-the soul are sacrificed on the altar of profit. That anti-rite been playing out in its current form for 500 years. It is shocking, and emotionally devastating, but almost tedious or monotonous at this point. Among the many extremes to get normalized under such circumstances, is the vast dead plain that inhabits the land of the soul in ultra-rich individuals (and even those of us aspiring to be them). That's what I thought of upon learning of this latest Bezos Excess™. Only when the simple calm and joy of walking down a snowy path in the morning or reading a poem with a cup of coffee or having a long conversation with a friend has been internally obliterated and rendered unavailable to a person, do humans engage in such idiocy and excess. There is no yacht with masts high enough and there are not enough historic bridges in the world for Jeff Bezos to deconstruct that could replace what has been abandoned inside of him. Likely, only a gesture that is the opposite - maybe sitting at a picnic table in a public park, looking at dandelions and feeling the breeze – could ever begin to repopulate the rubble within Jeff Bezos.