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     "The Sky is a Landfill", the posthumous album and song title by Jeff Buckley. What could this possibly mean?

     This sky as cornucopia, wings and fingers spread wide to take what is free perhaps. But with that certainty the wind will bring unpleasant aromas to challenge you: Your conceptions, your hidden symbols, your psyche and ego jarred from its usual serene perch.

     They say that knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. These clichés are certainties revisited by everyone at some stage; some moreso than others, some unwanting to know, to delve into the refuse, the bitterness, the other face to discovery and the ecstasy this can bring.

     Questions and quests. Answers you probably don't want to hear but will anyway. The cruelties of life a mirage to some, full-frontal assault for many. I ponder my existence daily, meditate upon the seemingly inconsequential, only to find out later the immensity one small action can do to influence others in a chain reaction. Cause and effect, action and consequence, karma if you subscribe to this theory. What of it, you say? Why not, and it's obvious, I reply to you.

     Poverty. Old institutions stripped and redefined. Endless wars one after the other. Subversion of beliefs and principles to a more ideal end for governments, monarchies and industrial imperialists. The people in the middle and lower stratas of society having to deal with the workings of the few. We are many. Ground down. Silenced. Ignored. Dispersed.

     This diaspora to lands of opportunity continue unabated. Dreams of a better life consume even the most placid of citizens. Another chance, a new life, new soil to work and landscape to suit one's desires.

     What of it? Is this revolution or a compromise? I say both and neither: Half-full, half-empty, an invisible vessel.

     Your call.