UTU Letters

She offered to me a small scrap of folded, yellowed paper. She left as quickly as she had appeared.

This diminutive, old lady of no remarkable features - other than her warming smile, and a comforting glint in her eyes - had approached me as I stood amongst a few friends in a busy section of the town square. I was musing about the frustration of it all - about futility.

She had quietly brushed close to me, caught my attention by a soft tug on my sleeve; and, then had offered to me this folded piece of old paper without any explanation. And, then had vanished away as quietly as she had come into our circle.

She was gone. And, I looked into the folded paper to see scrawled upon it in old, blue ink the three letters that soon became a mantra for my resolve to futility.

On the paper were the letters "UTU".

My first inclination had been to simply crumble up the paper, and, toss it away.

But, something within her smile had said for me to pause on this first instinct. And, I was, after all, somewhat open to emotions. I was angry -and, therefore, open to making easy mistakes.

'"UTU" had absolutely no significance to me. And, I figured that it was some sort of cultish thing - or, the declaration from a well-meaning old lady who was in need of companionship.

I tried to explain away this simple occasion as something that I needed more than her. I didn't really understand at that time that I was more right than wrong. And, that this "UTU" would have a revolutionary impact upon my life and destiny.

Today, now twenty-five years later, I am so thankful for that moment - even with the resulting scars that I bear as a memorial. But, now, I am also one who will tug on someone's sleeve; and, leave a yellowed piece of paper in their unsuspecting hand bearing three simple letters scrawled in old, blue ink: "UTU".

... And, tomorrow... you will carry a piece of old yellowed paper into someone's palm.

Revolutions start with a cause. "UTU" became an identity. It bore with its inclusive declaration a call into action - and, a full abandonment of self-preservation. You presumed that you were without hope. But, now, it was for the future - as all revolutions are inevitably. The grunts never survive to enjoy the fruits of this labour. And, there is absolutely no resentment of this fact.

Your energy is guided only toward establishing the foundation upon which to build the template of a new administration outside of the old, hierarchical thrones that prevailed and corrupted the original ethic of our society.

It was the pinnacle - its point - that eventually burst the sensitive skin of the bubble that we called the social norm - established rule by government; the respect for the judicial system that eventually became overwhelmed by the trade-offs: retention of post in lieu of maintaining the public interest; there was a profound death to the good of the whole.

History notes these periodic upheavals of established rule as being a cleansing. Not bringing forth a better administration; merely, replacing the old with the new. The new hierarchical group dispatches the old through accusations and evidence of corruption. Certainly, it was there.

It existed and was a disease.

But, in this life on Earth, the functions of administration are founded upon the physical conepts of the sphere - what goes around again eventually comes around : the mobius loop.

"UTU" was likely no different. But, I was now inside the circle. And, this sphere became my life force - the cause celebre. The fiction became the fact. I was a converted enthusiast - a grunt.

The Old Guard had to go.

Ginger Groups - the young punks who know everything; and, who will replace the Old Guard - are inevitable; just like the vernacular of adolescence will evolve to create a barrier between the old and the new.