Excerpt: A Sense of Rage
Kyle Dixon stood alone on a hill above Murietta, California, the warm wind pouring over him with a rush. He ignored the few stars visible in the moonless night sky as he focused on the scene below. The lights of civilization spread in all directions. His frustration was as immense and dominating as the powerful view that confronted him. Here was the ugly vision of suburban sprawl, a glowing, pulsating symbol of a modern world he hated. They called it progress, he called it destruction and desecration. Raping the land, defiling nature, absolutely ruining his memories of how it once looked. He could also see the seemingly endless snake of lights on I-10 and its convergence with I-215 and his mouth drew tight, his throat constricted. He sipped from the water bottle he had carried loosely in his left hand, but it did not help his throat; he was too angry. He spit and it blew away to oblivion. It was an act of conviction as much as defiance. He made up his mind it was time for action. Time for drastic measures, time to put his plan into affect. It was time for the awakening of society he felt was so absolutely necessary.
“They shall suffer,” he said out loud, “and the suffering shall serve notice of what is required.”
Was this the declaration of a madman? Perhaps; maybe not. However, it was at the very least a declaration of a man who could no longer contain his frustration. It was his anguish over a litany of grievances that had festered for a long time. Grievances that meant the ruin of the environment and spoiled his world. It was an environment diminished for everyone. It was a merciless progression of change touted as society advancing. For him it was poisoning our very future.
The land was being violated, polluted, and misused. Houses, apartments, shopping malls, restaurants, car dealers, golf courses, and much more spilled across the land like a giant Monopoly set splattered everywhere you looked. There were acres and acres of parking lots that drained rain water away instead of soaking into the ground, that consumed more energy by being lighted, and that formed adverse micro-climates from absorbed and radiated heat. These hateful parking lots were paved in order to accommodate the thousands upon thousands of cars and trucks and SUVs that sucked up way too much gasoline and spewed way too much pollution. All of this growth, all of this progress, contributed to the tremendously wanton waste of resources. Flaunting and wallowing in the excessive use of electrical power and of water followed the endless construction. This was a frightening reality he rejected; he did not want this so-called progress. He would not have it. There was a solution.
And what had Dr. Simmons told him?
“You cannot change the world to suit you,” the good therapist had softly reminded him.
Kyle had no answer for that concept. He merely sat stoically, silently refusing to accept that possibility. He had his own perceptions of how society should behave. A skewed reality to be sure, but nevertheless, a belief he defiantly clung to with the tenacity of a pit bull. He worked tirelessly to combat the progress he hated.
Kyle would not accept his place in the broader scheme of things in which he was powerless to change what was happening, nor face the fact he had little control over much of anything. Even with Dr. Simmons’ help, he did not understand how alienated he was. After all, he was successful in recruiting other powerless-feeling folks who believed progress was ruining just about everything. So he wasn’t alone with his beliefs, right?
He thought he could change things, that he could control the future. It would be the end result of his crusade, a plan of action he had considered for a long time. He saw himself as the modern-day Don Quixote battling for environmental and social justice without considering what justice and whose justice it was.
He had disconnected himself from the reality Dr. Simmons had so diligently tried to help him recognize. Now the time had come to appease his sense of rage.