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It’s undeniable…we live in a territory largely controlled by the devil. Chaos bubbles beneath the surface of everything. Wild winds of random blow indiscriminately at the whim of the planet’s prince. Anything can happen. And usually does.
Notwithstanding the bad rap the devil gets, he’s actually Chairman of the Chastisement Committee. Commissioned by the heavenly Trio, his duties are to reprimand and prepare the wayward heirs of paradise for the tough road and narrow gate. Being on commission and bonus, he’s diligent in his duties.
Irritability is an insidious temperament. It’s cloaked in the guise of righteous indignation. We’re put upon by a myriad of things, small and large. It takes little to feel the whip. It’s administered arbitrarily as the potentate wills.
The whip of irritability adjusts our sullen attitudes of superiority. The daily beatings deliver the message...we’re not in control. Pride is thrashed into submission. It’s the only way.
It begins every morning. The devil sits in wait on the corner of our bed. He plots with delight his odious plans for our daily downfall. Swoosh, the wind blows. Crack, the whip pops. He’s tuning up.
You stagger out for the newspaper. It’s playing hide and seek. The carrier is the culprit, the devil’s minion. You refer to him obscenely. You pick through the shrubs. Mosquitoes attack. You lose blood fast. You curse. Snap. Hiss. The whip warms up.
Maybe you have children. They’re precious progeny, fruit of your loins, loves of your life. Today they’re restive, irritable. They demand breakfast. They hate school. They hate you. They whine. Their whimpers become the whips of irritability. The bellyaching torment drives you from their presence. Now you know why some animals devour their young. The whip starts to sting.
You ask yourself, “Why me?” You answer yourself, “I deserve better. After all, I’m innocent.” You talk frequently to yourself like this. You constantly feel entitled, immune from the anguish of life. But nobody listens. Nobody cares. They are, like you, the center of their own universe. The whip lashes vanity with unmitigated delight.
There are degrees of irritability, a hierarchy of things that agitate us. Mild irritability is the beginning of Dante’s nine rings of hell. Each rung leads to more heinous whippings. You discover yours usually by circle four.
Traffic is the devil’s playground. He’s the architect of interstate highways. Nobody’s friendly there. Present advantage rules the road. Courtesy is mocked. Murder enters your mind. The whip of irritability is a terror for the lack of benevolent thoughts.
We each cuddle with our own favorite irritations. They grind us like sandpaper; they enrage us like Comcast; and peeve us like a wad of bubblegum stuck on our shoe. Cell phones in the hands of loudmouths provoke us. Almost as appalling as being seated in a smoking section or near a table of screaming babies. Do you hear the whip coming closer?
Humans are strange creatures, perhaps the only living fossils that must always understand ‘Why.’ We’re annoyed because of our arrogance, our innate desire to have things ‘our way.’ Such nonsense summons up the whip because it’s a threat to authority. Chastening is here to stay. Get used to it.
Irritability is a matter of perspective…yours and theirs. Nobody’s immune from its whip. Perhaps the whip is sent to chastise us, to demonstrate the depravity of our fallen state. Or maybe it’s sent to give us fair warning of the consequences to come. Who can say? One thing can be said…it’s here to stay!
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A friend has a sign in his office. It reads, “The beatings will continue until attitudes have changed.”
Given our current self-righteous State of the Union, the whippings may need to become more savage for remedial purposes. Otherwise, hell will be crowded and paradise will be a vacant and lonely place. Sinatra is not singing, “I Did It My Way” in the heavenly choir…refer to The Book. Crack.
Bud Hearn
May 9, 2014
Illustration by Leslie Hearn
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