As if hell was built for rabbits!

As if hell was built for rabbits! So is written my favorite line in HG Wells' The War of the Worlds. The book that has sparked more than a century of imaginations about the possibility of aliens and space travel. From the classic Cold War masterpiece The Day the Earth Stood Still to the saccharin ET the Extraterrestrial to the lumbering oafish Independence Day; we owe those death rays, warp engines and even the notion of the modern sexy sci-fi female character to HG Wells. Lt. Uhura and Trinity owe Miss Elphinstone—who in Edwardian England when "Ladies" were demure and chaste, showed her mettle during the panic to flee London by fending off rapists and attackers with a bull-whip, carrying a pistol and threatening to shoot another refugee's horse who was trying to take advantage of her and her sister-in-law—a debt of gratitude for being such a strong and determined woman.

When I first came across The War of the World's it was in the form of a part of a series of vintage literature that had been turned into graphic novels or comic books to make great books more palatable for kids. It certainly fired my own dreamworlds where as a child I created the galactic spanning empires of The Khran. The Khran's home planet of Khrantanium was millions of light years from earth. They settled on Jupiter thousands of years ago right under it's Great Red Spot. Cocoville their capital was a huge metropolis of over 1 billion people living in an area the size of Delaware. The city was as dense as Manhattan and had a 300-story skyscraper (take that Burj Khalifa) that soared to over 4,100 feet; a subway that traveled at speeds of 1,000 miles per hour. There were posh neighborhoods like Auznia and Bandragina, bad areas like The Pits and Merchosine; I even had urban renewal projects called Quadroplexes where the city would raze 16-square blocks of decrepit housing at a time and build huge 50+ floor residential blocks with open air parks and public transportation to help middle and low income Cocovillians have access to better living. I guess it was the Aquariun in me to be so civic-minded even in creating adequate housing for hardworking alien colonists.

Unlike many other 19th century speculative fiction writers: Jules Verne (whose work was often a hoity toity mix of condescending smarty-pants science fiction) and Bram Stoker (whose Dracula is nothing more than an effete and overlong pulper), Mr Wells (without the period as the British love to do) was democratic in his writing. It wasn't by random chance that the aliens landed in the middle-class—don't think of it in today's socio-economic terms. The middle classes in 1906 England were hard working often downtrodden and put upon people. Here's a little primer—village of Woking. In his book there are no muscular former marine or special forces officer with tidy hair and flat abs who have nothing left to live for; or a young plucky kid carrying the secrets of universal (or at least terrestrial) salvation in his blood. The narrator of The War of the Worlds was an everyman just describing the horror that he witnesses. He travels the English countryside without fear and so is revealed what lies at the heart of this book. The nature of fear.

Not just the fear of the unholy and truly alien Martians with their tentacles and need for human blood. But the routine everyday mundane fear that keeps us tucked away imprisoned in our orderly taxpaying, Royal Wedding following, saying "bless you" to a sneezer, going green because it helps Mother Earth, I'm so sad that All My Children is going off the air lives. When all hope is lost the unnamed narrator comes across a soldier in hiding; the surprising philosophical discussing that ensues sticks to my brain and becomes more powerful as I get older. This artilleryman describes what he thinks life under the Martians would be like. Humans would either become cattle or pets. He said that the vast majority of people would submit to the Martians not because man had been defeated indeed that had already happened. Most people would commit to bondage because they feared the unknown. In a great monologue this unlearned soldier broke down our relationship to fear.

They haven't any spirit in them--no proud dreams and no proud lusts; and a man who hasn't one or the other--Lord! What is he but funk and precautions? They just used to skedaddle off to work--I've seen hundreds of 'em, bit of breakfast in hand, running wild and shining to catch their little season-ticket train, for fear they'd get dismissed if they didn't; working at businesses they were afraid to take the trouble to understand; skedaddling back for fear they wouldn't be in time for dinner; keeping indoors after dinner for fear of the back streets, and sleeping with the wives they married, not because they wanted them, but because they had a bit of money that would make for safety in their one little miserable skedaddle through the world. Lives insured and a bit invested for fear of accidents. And on Sundays--fear of the hereafter. As if hell was built for rabbits! Well, the Martians will just be a godsend to these. Nice roomy cages, fattening food, careful breeding, no worry.

How much of our lives does that passage detail. I love the movie Airport but there was a scene in which the wife of the swaggering pilot of the doomed aircraft remarks that yes she knows he's cheated on her for years but one day he'll get tired of the cute stewardesses and come home for something other that to change his clothes. She was afraid of being alone. She had no spirit or pride or lust. My good friend Anthony Carter blogs about how fear in relationships can not only be detrimental but potentially deadly. We live in a world of unbridled irrational fear. Fear of bin Laden, shoe bombers and 3 oz. vials of liquid . Fear of Mexicans crossing the border to steal our jobs and teach our children spanish. Fear of gay people marrying or teaching or serving in the military because nothing says "Daddy" like a broad-chested man in camo fatigues. Fear that the President of the United States is not a citizen (as if that would preclude him from screwing up the country--need I name names George, Condi, Dick and Sarah). The artilleryman had what it took to survive. It would fight at all costs to stay free and unafraid. The soldier and narrator were able to push through their fear and indeed in the end nature took care of the Martians.

Fear is a devastating spike we self-inflict on a daily basis. It is fear that has kept us off the stage of our lives observing from behind the curtain in the wings watching the crowd waiting for our moment in the spotlight. But life is about living. There is living in life. And nature will take care of the rest. Don't be fearful anymore. Leap with joy and vanquish those restraints. If there is a job, a lover or a situation that you want out of then just leave. I'm not preaching impetuous behavior not at all. We all have responsibility but make sure that obligation is love motivated not fear motivated. Fear will consume and control every aspect of your life until you live in a guilded cage in a world where freedom means discomfort. Be bold! Be fearless. I leave you with the words of the indomitable Master of Great Teachings: Yoda.

"Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."