What’s Next?

“It (Life) is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights illuminate, but you can make the whole trip that way.” D. L. Doctorow

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According to the Gregorian calendar, we’ve entered into a new solar year. We cross that blindfolded into that threshold. What dark alley are we in? Something’s gonna happen. Not if, but when. But what? The buffet menu of possibilities is endless.

Fearful by nature, we distrust the Fates and often are fed up with prayer. We wonder about the world’s Garden of Evil. Any rational view of world conditions, not to mention the Universe of Self, would conclude this. We live with the constant question: “What’s next?”

We are hopeful to have a Jubilee Year, right? That special year when everything’s reset, debts forgiven, property is restored, scales of justice balanced, the national debt cancelled, feuding grievances are forgiven and brotherly love oozes from every pore.

Is this happening in your world? No. Old grievances remain, debt still stalks and the process of aging keeps on keeping on. Where are we going from here? We fling the question ‘up there.’ The Universal Voice is silent.

China on the east, Russia on the west. Us in the middle. Do you feel the vice? Pyongyang explodes. Obama cries. Congress fiddles. Putin pushes. Stalin’s words ring: “One death is a tragedy; 20 million is a statistic.” What brink are we on? What’s next?

Our President is quietly packing up to leave, trying to ease out the back door undisclosed. Tarot cards reveal his formation of a yogic ashram at Harvard where he sits in a loin cloth in lotus, chanting om’s and reciting Lao-Tsu poetry while painting his toe nails.

His library is loaded with TV screens flashing live images of himself, night and day. They remind him of his greatness. But he’s history now, forgotten. Trump has taken over the Oval and has banned all political correctness by executive fiat.

Meanwhile, the gender and identity politics movement has crawled from its cocoon, espousing ‘conversion therapy’ for children to help them discover their rightful gender. LGBT schools for K-12 for gender dysphoric children are on the horizon. It’s anybody’s guess what that will morph into. The New Rome, maybe. What’s next?

Oh, there’s plenty, but why go there? What we need are some miracles scattered about to rekindle our faith, to restore our equilibrium. Instead, we buy lotto tickets while waiting on the shores of the mythical Isle of Serendip for our ship to sail in.

Miracles are difficult to discover these days. Where’s the burning bush, the sea that parts, the ax that floats, the ladder from heaven? Such phenomena have been pretty scarce lately.

There’s a reason. The ambient air for miracles to appear is poisoned. Imagine walking down the street and there, right before your eyes, is a bush that burns. You stop, look. The bush flames up without being consumed. It speaks, “Hey, I am a miracle.” Fear grips you.

You grab your cell, dial 911 and declare an emergency. Your Instagrams, texts and emails go viral. The fire department rushes in, the police investigate. The press shows up. Meanwhile, millions see you on Facebook, YouTube, CNN. You’re famous now. Hollywood offers a movie deal.

But wait. There’ll be investigations. Someone’s to blame. You might be railroaded, hauled in, interrogated, made to confess. You will protest. A public defender will take your case. The trial will be speedy. You will lose. Who would want to discover a miracle? So you quit looking for it. Blending into the crowd of cynics is safer.

So what’s next? Do we stand silently at a distance and watch as history plays out its inexorable conclusion? Let’s hope not. Serendipity is still out there. Serendipity? Ah, even the sound of the word is soothing. It’s where miracles are conceived.

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Our metaphoric car, filled with hopes and dreams, hurls through the darkness of the future. WE are that burning bush, that living miracle. What’s next is what we make it to be.

Irrespective of the numerical prefixes in front our years, we should strive to make things better with “What’s next?” So, forget the headlines, just buy the ticket, take the ride.


Bud Hearn
January 8, 2016