I think that I could not march under the peacock flag. So brash, so bold, I think perhaps I’d trip over a shoelace and be lost forever. Nor would the salamander be right. So graceful, yet so angry. I do not choose violence.
The rabbit, perhaps, would be fine. They say those under the Green flag aren’t right, but I think they’d be okay. Quiet. Not too much fuss. Not so worried about making decisions – sometimes a body wants to consider all the sides for a while. The Red Quarter, they move so briskly, so self-assured, like they always know what’s right. The Yellows? Seems to me that if a mountain stands in their way, they just knock it over. Doesn’t seem right, does it? You don’t want to just go and change the natural way things are.
I don’t remember much about why it happened, but someone said it would be better if we made Kingdom more logical. They did studies, and I can see that it makes sense, dividing us by our natural tendencies. They know these things; we do not. Before, there was too much tension, too much strife. Our new way reduces all of that. We get along now. At least we get along here in the Blue Quarter. We understand each other. We don’t try to make ourselves into what we aren’t.
The other Quarters make fun of us, talk about the whoo-whoo Blue Quarter. They talk about our indecisiveness, our political woes, and, oh my, the state of our economy. Perhaps we made some mistakes in the beginning; it is not for me to say.
It is not true that progress is measured by railroads and prosperity alone – one must consider the soul as well. It is common knowledge that the Phlegmatics exhibit a much higher level of spiritual awareness than, say, the Cholerics. Even the Sanguine, nobody believes they are as cheerful as they claim, as proud as their peacock suggests. I have heard tell that some, a very few, claim kinship with the Melancholics, feeling the quivering of the rabbit when boldness is required.
They make fun of our seahorse, the symbol of our Quarter. This is envy, not knowledge. Let them laugh, we don’t mind. Our seahorse, our field of blue, is a whimsical symbol of a whimsical people – they laugh, but when they come, they don’t want to leave. We enchant them, we seduce them, and they see the magic of the Blue Quarter. They will do anything to remain here. As will I.
But it does make me wonder, a little bit, how this experiment will succeed. It has been a long time now, and I am still not sure we are better, but perhaps that takes time. The rabbits, melancholy as they are, surely will never achieve a real government. One hears the dark rumors. The salamanders, filled with vile yellow choler, will do themselves in. They harbor terrorists, and you cannot trust them. And the peacocks, so proud, will be roiled in endless paperwork. They forget that people make mistakes.
Even the seahorses, mired in the viscous phlegm that marks us, face disaster. If we cannot agree upon the basics of running a Quarter, how can we survive? There are already those who look to our resources and think to manipulate the weaker – and I must admit that some do not have the necessary spiritual strength – among us.
Maybe dividing the Kingdom was not a good choice. But maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.