To those who live in Ivory Towers: I can't imagine how the view must be from up there. The magnificent vistas, the lush green pastures far below, the immense mountains rising purple just below the glowing red sun. How your glowing, smooth tower must reflect pink at sunset. I can't fathom how marvelous it must feel to be nearly flying above those toiling so far below on the ground. The upper-atmospheric wind rushing across your bleached marble floor so clean, but so cold. Not a speck of dust in any corner, sinks spotlessly white, even the fixtures immaculate, as if brand new. Oh, the scrubbing it must have taken to get them that way. The hours of using a screwdriver to unscrew faucet fixtures to clean underneath them, the sore knees from hours cleaning between floor tiles, but all worth it. Looking down from your ivory veranda, the tiny specks of black below moving, toiling must look so silly, so primitive, so lazy.
Oh, you think, to live in a place surrounded by those specks of black, like bits of dirt. How horrible! How impure, imperfect! How flawed! To even have to look at them is nearly unbearableÃ¢ÂÂ¦ and yet you do. Why? Every day, every night you step out to see what they're up to now, living their tiny empty lives while you float up among the clouds. Why? Every minute you are drawn to them, fascinated by their tiny ways. Why? You thank God you can't see all of the horrors they commit inside their own houses, inside their own minds. Why? And yetÃ¢ÂÂ¦ you can imagine the deceit, the debauchery that you can't see. Why?How? How, indeed? You can just picture the riotous drinking at their feasts. How? You can envision the thievery they commit. How? You can just visualize the sexual perversions that are indulged in their bedrooms. How? How indeed? From where would a resident of an ivory tower conjure such disgusting behavior? How could a bleached, white, washed spotless soul like yourself even imagine such darkness? How? How indeed?