Don’t you think capitalism is amazing? The way it infiltrates each and every tiny corner of our lives. Nothing can be left uncommodified – it must be turned to profit. But sometimes I react with resistance – I should just write poetry – wait for the pressure to build into words, wait until I’m feeling that old low grade illness, even though at the time I’ve no notion of what afflicts me – only aware in that unnamed way that there is this grudging discomfort. And then slowly discover, as the first few words emerge and the writing begins its flow to the ocean – freely or awkwardly – that, oh yes, this is what I needed to do.
Of course, capitalism seems quite efficient (and efficiency is a key justification for apologists of capital terrorism) at moving goods and money around. We do our best to turn a blind eye because indulging our desires for new and wondrous goodies is more often than not too difficult to resist but at the same time it is hard to disguise the fact that most of the circulating money ends up travelling in one direction – into the gargantuan pockets of the super-wealthy. It is apparently necessary that we are left gasping for breath and asking ourselves and anybody else who happens to be around, is the cost too great? And is our current gangster capitalism the best we can do as it wreaks moral and ecological havoc? And, are we here again? How did they do this to us, again?
Though there is always that residual awareness that the left hand knows not what the right hand is doing; that we will always be subjected to unintended consequences; that the cunning and the clever will always find legal (or illegal, come to that) ways of ripping off the majority – those of us who are too slow, too disinterested, too impoverished, too ground into the dust to demand the validity of our own resistance.
And in the light of the Pope’s resignation (I didn’t even know that it was allowed!) what do you mean, spiritual?