This Child is My Warrant

We watched "The Road" with Viggo Mortensen last night. It was heavy. I mean HEAV-Y. Very well-told story, beautifully played out, but really, really heavy. But even Chuncho could not deny the beauty of the story. It's not going to make you feel good. Not at all. In fact, there were numerous times that I was YELLING at the screen for various reasons. There are parts that will horrify you. The inhumanities people will do to each other in desperate times were very well highlighted in this movie. But mostly, it was just sad. Sad in a tragic way that you want this father and son to succeed, you want them to reach the promised land of the coast and find food and animals and shelter and humanity still in tact.

I used to be able to watch these movies and just say, "Shit man, that would suck balls." But now, when I watch these post-apocalyptic movies, all I can think about is what we would do and how we would survive and keep our kids safe. It sort of makes watching these movies a little bit stressful. And it always reminds me how fucked we would be if we didn't have Chuncho. I don't even know how to shoot a freaking gun. And rest assured, when the apocalypse comes (and I do hope that it DOESN'T come, and I do hope that this is just my paranoia coming out) there won't be time enough for rifle training.

A quote from the movie struck a chord in me. "This child is my warrant. If he is not the word of God, God never spoke."

That quote makes me want to read the book. But I'm fairly certain that if the movie was that heavy, that the book will be even heavier. I mean, jeez, on the cover of the book it says "a work of such terrible beauty, you will struggle to look away." That pretty much sums up how I felt about the movie, too. Terrible beauty.

Is terrible beauty something to be thankful for? I think so. In the way that it makes me thankful for things like sitting here, on my butt in front of my laptop with me tea beside me, my Brumby babbling happily in his exersaucer, with the freedom to write about terrible beauty. I'm not endlessly migrating through a post-apocalyptic world where cannibals want to rape and then eat me. I'm not hoping for a single cricket for my next meal, hoping for decent shelter to lay my head tonight. I'm sitting here, comfy in my yoga pants (aka sittin' on the couch pants), belly full of bagel with sour cherry-kiwi jam, warm and dry and happy. Thankful. And mostly unprepared for any kind of apocalyptic activity.