What is it that has me all worked up? Everything, everywhere! I am bombarded with it. Maybe it's just the extreme heat or my own hormones (quite likely) or age itself. I may have crossed some invisible barrier in the maturity process that makes me cringe at the crude, the vulgar, the stupid, and the profane.
I first noticed this phenomenon years ago while watching late night television, which is a bastion of the crude, the vulgar, the stupid, and the profane. (That might be where I overdosed on the stuff.) I cringe at Jay Leno's sex jokes and the stupidity of the people in his man-on-the-street interviews. After watching David Letterman on various networks for the better part of two decades, I stopped watching his show cold turkey after witnessing him belittling a guest. Seriously -- cold turkey! Can no longer abide the man!
I have just returned from my local Walmart where I witnessed:
- a screaming child and his aloof mother (I know, I know - she may have had her reasons for ignoring the behavior, but the child needed some sort of comforting, or a nap, or something)
- an angry, mean father dominating his three small children while his pregnant wife looked on in silence
- magazine covers about bad boy Justin Bieber, bad girl Miley Cyrus, and new mom Kim Kardashian
Two consoling thoughts come to my mind...the first, a line from an unknown poem, "the world is too much with us," which (by Googling) I have discovered to have been written by William Wordsworth in 1806. Could he have experienced a similar phenomenon so long ago? Apparently so.
The other thought that comes to mind is from an LDS hymn of the same name: "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" by Emma Lou Thayne, a poet I have actually met. She was in her 80s and still as alert and active and delightful a person as I have ever met.
I will post both of these poems below, in case you need solace from the crude, the vulgar, the stupid and the profane as much as I do.
THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON
By William Wordsworth, 1806
THE world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. ...Where Can I Turn for Peace?
By Emma Lou Thayne
- Where can I turn for peace?Where is my solaceWhen other sources cease to make me whole?When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,I draw myself apart,Searching my soul?
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Where, when my aching grows,Where, when I languish,Where, in my need to know, where can I run?Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?Who, who can understand?He, only One.
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He answers privately,Reaches my reachingIn my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.Constant he is and kind,Love without end.