The Myth of the Golden Moth (Oh, pardon, it is but Orange-ish) aka: 'The Changel


We Americans take much for granted. So ingrained is our stability, so entrenched is our inevitability, so spoiled are we to our supremacy, that we are immune and aloof to the possibility of tumultuous change.

For nigh on seventy-five years, we Americans have been inculcated to the firm belief that no one is stronger, smarter, better, more advanced, more innovative.

So brazenly arrogant we have become that it is unfathomable anything in the world might exist that could challenge our status.

We would do well to remember the past powerful empires who sat, unassailable, in the sanctity of their certitude. Then, when the unthinkable surged upon them, unprepared was not only an understatement, it proved their elegy.

Think of: The Atlantians The Egyptians

The Phoenicians The Greeks

The Persians The Incas

The Khans The Maya

The Sing The Aztecs

The Romans The British

The Czars The Soviets And, ,on and on, ad infinitum.

All of the above thought their preeminence was unassailable. Yet the Winds of Change blasted them into the Annals of History. Their memories are only dusty tomes on a forgotten shelf in a dark cellar.

Donald Trump is a product of this era. A chameleonic chimera of a con. One projecting and championing a discontent bolstered by unseen powers and bent on 'Change' at whatever the cost. We would do well to hearken to the past champions of the world and read the leftover poetry eulogizing their invincibility as we now allow the conjuring of the orange moth of myth. Mr Trump. The fabled Golden Moth who was destined to save the world yet one more time.

Then, we should remember that the Orange moth is subject to frailties all his own. The Orange moth will become enthralled with the proverbial light in the night forever its nemesis. The sycophant moths now moon-eyeing the Orange pompadoured One will follow in his demise. Lambs to the slaughter. For, Mr. Trump is, in reality, nothing but a mirage and an illusion.

The poets deifying Mr. Trump would do well to remember that there are no words rhyming with orange... And, the man blends into our psyches until we may not separate him from ourselves: our own worst enemy...within us.

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