The Loneliness of the Long Distance Cyclist

Perhaps I should really call this posting Dream Dream Dream, reminding us of that lovely Bobby Gentry and Glenn Campbell love song of the late sixties. I hanker to harmonise, both musically and romantically, every time I hear that.
I've been having some vivid if intriguing dreams of my own over the last few nights. Maybe I shouldn't eat so much cheese before going to bed! They've not been nightmares, though the waking world has provided enough of those over the last week.
On Tuesday night, I was dreaming about a gruelling cycle race, which appeared to be taking place in some mountain setting, possibly the Alps. Although my radio was left on as usual, which sometimes influences my sleeping images, I can't possibly think why I should dream about a bike ride, unless there was a bit of mental detritus left over from TV news coverage of the Tour of Britain race round Westminster on Sunday. I did think of going up to see that actually, being the gregarious soul I often am and enjoying such events, but settled instead for a Sunday snooze and a tasty ice cream after the social exertions of the night before in Shoreham.

Getting back to the cycle dream though, I did seem to be a spectator rather than a rider, but what was so mysterious that somehow the "goalposts" of the ride, the direction indicators and boundaries of the course, had been moved mid-way through the race and nobody seemed to know where they were headed. I was feeling very sorry for a particular female cyclist who looked totally lost. There seemed to be a kind of anarchy about the ride and where people were going and I was most concerned for them.

Maybe in some Freudian way I was thinking about the apparent anarchy of parts of our world, following the terrible end to the school siege in Beslan, Russia last Friday. So far I have made no reference to that in this blog, but on balance it would be wrong for me not to. I say on balance, because one point made by Peter Preston, I think, in a Guardian op-ed piece the day after, is that the guaranteed coverage and world headlines this unbelievably barbaric event has left in its wake are probably just what the terrorists were hoping would happen- a fog of coverage on every front page, every TV screen, every news website the next day. A fog because it still leaves most of us lost, unable to comprehend how anyone, whatever their creed or race, could so mercilessly slaughter the innocent, let alone minors barely out of their cots.

God help us, literally, if that be the case, if we have seen the start of some horrendous 21st century propaganda war which owes as much to the keystroke and the camera as to the shouting match which stops short of bloody atrocity but passes as fair discussion and negotiation. The media and politicos face a new dilemma: can a free and civilised society, the very antithesis of what these "humans" seem to advocate in support of their "cause", supress actuality reporting of even the most gruesome of events? This seems like the only way to starve evil of the oxygen of publicity, but in so doing are we not dangerously close to perpetrating a new evil ourselves.?
"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free" rings very hollow at such times as this, but it can surely be the world's only hope. With the third anniversary of 9/11 just two days away, the world seems once again to be threatened with a knife edge of fear every bit as great as that following the twin towers atrocity.
The reservoirs of tears shed at the sight of beautiful young lives ended so brutally could end a drought. This is not just compassion fatigue, no. This feels like a marathon of despair and grief which mind and soul cannot endure, least of all those most affected by it- the mothers of Mother Russia. The sights of Beslan wring every last kilocalorie of empathy, sympathy and sorrow out of any decent soul. There has to be hope: God help Russia. Help us, in the face of evil, to forgive those that trespass against us. It's as hard as peddling uphill all the way, when you don't even know where you're going or where the journey will end. Thank the Lord that for believers, we know at least that there is an end to all this. There will come a time when the lion will lie down with the lamb and swords (=any weapon of destruction, mass or minor) will be turned into ploughshares. We can but dream, we can but pray.