The Wild Boar
I dream I am a wild boar, a powerful, magnificent beast with mighty tusks.
I charge through the hills, the forests, the fields, afraid of nothing.
Then I see another boar.
He is about ten times my size, with tusks like giant claymores.
I am filled with so much terror that I waken with a start.
I ponder for a while.
My rational mind says that to fear such a creature is normal, sensible.
But I argue with myself.
I was afraid of my own kind.
Am I a coward?
I tell my friend about it.
She fancies herself as a bit of a dream analyst.
You, she laughs, afraid? You are a Scot, nothing frightens you guys!
So we talk, and I understand.
I am not afraid of death, but disgrace.
My boar is my country, powerful, magnificent, mighty and beautiful.
The giant enemy represents those who conspire to rob us of our birthright.
The continually corrupt politicians in Westminster, of every party and including many Scots.
Led by a government run on self-interest, seeking only wealth and the power that brings more of that.
They need Scotland for Trident and for oil.
The corrupt media, led shamefully by the BBC, once deservedly world-famous, but for years now embroiled in its own scandals, a bigoted and biased organisation reflecting George Orwell’s words from so long ago.
The printed press, with the honourable exception of The Sunday Herald, are mostly long discredited for a variety of unspeakable behaviour, but still combine to flood the country with propaganda.
Lies, damned lies and statistics, manipulated for their own ends.
Sadly not all of us are always courageous, intelligent, educated or well-informed.
This poison is being swallowed by many who still trust the media.
Money and power are not only powerful motivation, but powerful tools.
I want to go back to sleep, to dream again of my gigantic foe, to face him and to slay him.
I am a Scot.
We are afraid of nothing.
There will be no disgrace.
We will say Yes!