I see. As in I understand, said the JD, consulting her inner vision, I see:
On the shore, sea all froth and wavelets, a shell of delivery is delivered to us by wind and current of endeavour or an nymph. Curled in a shell of enormous delicate colour lays the new. The winds of change, things can only get better, delivering the great seashell on its course, the sleeping or unborn babe of an idea curled, like a tiny animal of company, in its cushioned depth. Think pearl if you will, we used to go diving for them once.
Self-governance, by and for the greater population, the greatest idea that ever was, looking like a chihuahua or pet salamander, curled there in grace and favour.
The Zephyrs of Wind and Spring delivering, like in Dumbo, A delivery for the People, an idea so rich in consequence and subtle flavour, so sublime in simplicity and yet so complex in execution.
The small creature, as yet in blissful slumber, stretched out upon the cushion there, its tiny claws uncurling and flexing in the rich velvet, its tail, folded once about its back and continuing over its face, looking as if it wishes to remain, eyes closed, but in fact pure chance positioning. The colour of mud or a rich sauce, the furry flanks lifting and falling in a rhythm of life, it’s a powerful beat. Ears atwitch, tip of tail enjoying a life of its own.
Should we wake this idea and take it into our lives, challenge the eternal scourges of Wealth and Power, nurture the young and vulnerable creature in a corner of our homes in a cardboard box, with an old blanket to suffice. Must we discover its favourite sustenance, perhaps a fricassee of tyrant followed by a trio of delicately spliced despots.
The children will, at first, bill and coo over the new arrival but, sooner than one might expect, they will forget its newness and presume that it has always been.
The problem with elegant solutions or new pets is that it seems that they have always been there, just out of hearing and that thusly, they are robust and doughty, but the opposite is true. The young idea must be cared for and its ways and habits studied. One must explain to the children or population at large that you must not pull its ears or dress it up like a dalek. One must take it for walks along the election beach, teach it to sit at the side of the road until it is time to vote, surround it with a justice system fit for purpose, show it how to fetch a stick and maybe even write down a constitution?
None of these things will ensure the safety of your pet democracy, it must be groomed regularly, a difficult word to use these days. It must be taught not to bark in the night, bite the postman or discriminate against a minority. If it does, you may have to lock it inside or put a chain of rules and regulations around its neck.
Early in the morning one must take it out, curled upon your shoulder, to the park, where it might spread its wings and sit, to clean its whiskers, on the branch of a tree whilst you sit on a bench and discuss with the passers. One might teach it to play at accountability and transparency, although these skills of slip away if not practised regularly.
There are wild ones in the wild. Some harboured in shelters for feral ideas who live on the streets and in vacant spaces and lots of places. Perching upon the ledges.
Of mayhap this great idea is not perchance as shiny and new as we first. Long, long ago, inside the ancient Greek cities of Greece in what is now known as Greece, the idea or animal of company had been discovered and practised until it could stand on its hind legs and do a little dance. One vote, one ostracon, one love.
Intended to reduce the power of those who might rule by push and shove alone, the citizens visited the animal centre and took away a method of one man one vote on crucial issues. Women and slaves not included at that point, but you have to start somewhere, although why, no, don’t go down there, its flooded.
Hobbes and Locke and Rousseau took this idea to the cleaners, gave it a bath, administered anti flea oinkment (no pigs were hurt in this episode) fluffed up its fur, gilded its whiskers and presented it, fait acompli, for the modern pet owner who might vote. Still no women involved, that route is still under water.
This vision of possibility I see, said the Judges Daughter, her body reimagined in crystal, with eyes that see beyond the horizon, These visions are of consequence, don’t drop them or they might shatter in a thousand.
We must give theses wild and feral ideas to ourselves, pictures of queues at the voting hall, women as well, thank goodness the floods have receded. People carrying pet agendas, those little ones that fit in a carry pack that can be shouldered with straps, so that the little agenda can complete the cuteness of its owner, because there are some transparent panels, so that we can see in, and the agenda can see out.
We shall swim or sink together, holding the animals above the water that they might stay asleep. We decide our fate, we decide the direction of travel, and we train the lions (now digitised) to jump through the hoops of fire, also known as passing legislation. We shall remember its name and never be complacent.
This idea, this revolution, this new vision, this path, solution, this and that, these and those, show that we, us, ourselves, no one else, are capable of conceiving, bringing to the light, lifting up new ways to organise, to govern and write lists. Execute a plan, maintain the infrastructure, organise a drinking competition in a brewery and generally face the challenges.
What is the agenda, when it has finally woken up? Not just affordable housing I hope.
Just don’t expect, don’t ever think, don’t entertain the idea that these agenda and ideas come into our sphere perfectly formed. They have been worried at, discussed and beaten into shape, then rolled out through the pasta machine of ideas many, many times. Honing and tumbling, so that the pieces become polished and shiny although they are never perfectly round. We can take them in our hands and experience their tactility or imagine making chunky jewellery.
So that when, finally, we have grown up and outgrown the nursery of self-destruction and the playground of bullies, this notion is also grown in full and glorious with garland and laurel, then its shoulders will bear up the expectation, providing a framework and paraphernalia to hold us in its protective structure. A digital map to the future. Twenty-six minutes by car or twenty-eight minutes if you want to go the way that is a little bit slower.
The Guardians of the Cave 