Justice is the end of government. It is the end of civil society. It ever has been and ever will be pursued until it be obtained, or until liberty be lost in the pursuit. In a society under the forms of which the stronger faction can readily unite and oppress the weaker, anarchy may as truly be said to reign as in a state of nature, where the weaker individual is not secured against the violence of the stronger; and as, in the latter state, even the individuals are prompted, by the uncertainty of their condition, to submit to a government which may protect the weak as well as themselves; so, in the former state, will the more powerful factions or parties be gradually induced, by a like motive to wish for a government which will protect all parties, the weaker as well as the more powerful.

— Alexander Hamilton

I intended to include this in my next sundries post, but I felt it far too important for such marginalization.

Homosexuality in the Muslim world is one of the easiest ways to get yourself killed — or at least jailed and subjected to forced hormone and psychological treatment, years and even lifetimes in jail, lashings and other torture, public humiliation, amputated from society, and otherwise subjected to treatment so harsh as to make the fundamentalist Christian and conservative movements in America seem like the ACLU.

Gay Iranians are trying to organize so that their voices might be heard and their plight for equality understood.  While you can not possibly hope to resolve all of the challenges they face, you can show your solidarity and support by signing this petition.  Don’t hesitate; demonstrate your conviction that “all [humans] are created equal” by showing them they are not alone.

And remember, this is the only issue that the U.S. government agreed with the Iranian government on: subjugation of gays and the elimination of equality.

My inspiration for writing is life, from the mundane details of living to the latest political claptrap to The Kids to my friends and family to the minutiae of existence.  There remains no sacred territory about which I can not find something to say.

Perhaps I heard a song that inspires within me some torrent of emotion begging posit to the world.  It need not be a song on the radio or from a CD, however, as I am capable of hearing within the beating heart of life songs of the universe itself.  The drops of rain bombarding the pavement of a city street rhythmically call forth the drum of nature and the voice of renewal.  Warbling birds and the cry of the raptor reprise operatic intonations.  The rush of wind or the soft caress of a light breeze offers the clarion call of climate and change.  A friendly voice bears witness to calamity or delight begging a tale be told.

Endless stimuli abound for the ardent listener willing to hear, and in the hearing can be found all manner of inspiration.  Whether beckoning for philosophical contemplation or political opinion, or even simple accounts of general living, more and more I am overcome by the multitude of words inherent in all that is.

In the writing, words move ideas and dislodge thought, yet it remains unfettered by them.  Even the most plain can be overwhelmingly magnificent and beautiful by telling.

It is in the telling that I find catharsis.  Equally, it is in the unadorned and the elaborate that I find inspiration.  A leaf falling to the ground.  A pair of birds building a nest.  The orbit of planets and galaxies.  My cats sleeping quietly during a lazy afternoon.  An e-mail from my mother bidding me success.  By exploring with words both the ordinary and exotic, I live infinite lives in a single day, stand on many worlds without leaving my own, experience great and magnificent things through the power of my own mind, and find within it all magnitudes of greatness heretofore unrealized and unimagined.

In the river of experience, I stand and bathe, and its currents provide nourishment for creativity.

Waiting for opportunity to present itself is equivalent to laborious procrastination.  As Sir Francis Bacon once said, “A wise man will make more opportunities than he finds.”  This is true of national freedom as much as personal endeavors.  If we fail to seize opportunities in addition to risking it all to create them, we utterly and completely leave our fate in the hands of chance.  That road is littered with the cadavers of those who play it safe.  Consider the history of America for the best example.  Had the colonists not declared their freedom from England and risked their very lives to create a new country that honored the belief that all people should be free, the state of the world today would be quite different.

The idea of freedom is multifaceted, from the state point of view to that of the individual, and from the aspect of liberty to that of living one’s dreams.  You see, no one will give you freedom.  It must be grasped with strength and conviction.  It must be purchased with sacrifice and risk.  When it’s given, it is only permission, perhaps even charity, and it comes with strings attached even when they are not evident to the casual observer.

Existing from one day to the next awaiting an opportunity to break out of the mold and experience that for which we yearn produces naught but for the waiting.  Perhaps it is waiting for an opportunity to live a dream, a chance to explore long suppressed goals, or even the hope of being truly free when one has lived so much of life under tyranny and despotism.

When you have waited, has it made you sure of the waiting?  Has it made you comfortable in the empty promises of days to come?  Has it fulfilled your need for living and the drive to accomplish?  Has it made the goal nearer?

But what of the risk, you ask.  Yes, what of it?  The way to find your dreams is not always the right way, and it certainly can not always be called the easy road.  True freedom is taken from the world.  That involves risk.  National or personal, it is only gained through the largest and most dangerous bets of all.  Those opportunities most worth pursuing carry the greatest promise and the greatest realization of fear.  If there is nothing to be lost, what can possibly be gained?

Current technology allows people to culture genetic samples from pets who have died in the hopes of one day cloning an offspring of that same animal.  Because environmental and other conditions determine the disposition and personality of animals, such a procedure does not guarantee an exact duplicate of the original except genetically.

When faced with those who decide upon such an endeavor, I am forced to wonder precisely what might compel someone to make such a decision.  Are there not enough animals euthanized around the globe to warrant saving one at a time when emotional turmoil from previous loss is sufficiently rendered manageable?  Is not the uniqueness of a pet’s personality worth protecting the memory and legacy from violations such as a feeble attempt to recreate them?  Are departed pets not worthy of memorialization rather than scientific experimentation?

I realize we may, at a time in the future, perfect the technology that would allow successful cloning of such genetic souvenirs.  I also realize, and certainly have preached the same thing from this very pulpit on many occasions, that my pets are my children and suffering the loss of one of them is a heartrending experience that has and will again leave me distraught and emotionally wounded.  How then could I justify any selfish move intended to duplicate that animal in any way?

Attempts to explain it as gaining an offspring of the original are lacking.  Again I ask, what of the thousands put to death every single day?  To explain it as nothing more than hope for a future time is disingenuous at best.  Was the original not worthy of respect in person and form?

Each of my pets enjoys a full life and irrefutable love and care.  Each wants for nothing (except, perhaps, and only according to them, more of my time and less of that work thing).  They have siblings with whom they play and sleep and share a home, and they have a parent who will gladly sacrifice in great quantity to ensure their well-being, who will face perdition’s flames and travel to the ends of the universe so that they might enjoy a safe and reliable home free of stress and concerns.  When the time comes for them to forsake this physical world and bring to an end their experiences in this life, I can not imagine diminishing that in any way, including belief in whatever promises technological wizardry may make for the hope of one day enjoying the company of a companion generated from the original.

My life has been enriched to an infinite degree by those animals I have rescued, each offering a new form of overwhelming joy and happiness previously unbeknownst to me.  Each of them in turn deserves to be remembered for their uniqueness and singular personality, for the life they lived in absolute carefree abandon.  And each of them leaves me the legacy of knowing they wanted for naught and were blessed with the true definition of living.

It is an affront to their very lives to believe it possible somehow to regain part of that magic by cheaply copying the original.  Anthropomorphization notwithstanding, am I wrong to assume that were they capable of voicing such an opinion they would seek to encourage me to grant to another animal the same opportunity with which they were gifted?  Could I somehow do justice to their memory by forsaking others in need of rescue and a loving home only to satisfy a personal desire to hopefully recapture some small measure of the mystery and miracle we once shared?

I won’t deny that a part of me yearns for the company of Henry, Arco, Sebastian, Heathrow, Bear, Fritz, Bugsy, and a great many other pets lost to the sands in the hourglass.  Who among us can claim that such is not true for them regarding a beloved pet long since gone?  Despite this innate desire to save that which can not possibly be saved, a trait all humans share, it denigrates the living and dying already in the past to think myself so important that I might play god in some way with the very loved one I swore to protect.

No, poppets, I would not clone a pet.  I could not in good conscious do justice to their memory by engaging in such a self-interested activity.  I suspect my children appreciate all that they have and the opportunity with which they were presented when I rescued them.  I also suspect they would wish for me to give that same opportunity to another animal after their life has run its course.

I can never duplicate them.  It’s impossible, although copying their genetic form is not.  If I can not make them eternally mine, what other than hubris and selfishness would make me want to corrupt the beautiful memories with which they have blessed me in the hopes of seizing yet more time from the presence of a family member who has already died?

Let them rest.  Let their memory be enough to satisfy whatever needs may exist.  Let his or her legacy be that you find it within your heart to bring another homeless animal into your life so that they might be loved and nurtured and live fully.