I am not ashamed that I voted for Hillary. That was what we call a no-brainer. I am profoundly ashamed that I demonstrated even that modicum of faith in a system for democracy so clearly gone off the rails.
I knew better. I lived through Nixon on TV, and Kennedy. Various Howdy Doodys since that time as the nation self-divides among winners and losers, that distinction fluid according to who your neighbors are, where you live, and you don't even know them anymore, those neighbors.
I've watched this happen, as though I were helpless, as though there were nothing I could do, as though the fight was in the head and on the page, to save those others from the mediated manipulations that they were subject to and not I.
But it is my side which has been duped. The side of love, the side to believe that we are better together than apart even while we disavowed anything less than comely, less than the sweet lives we could live by virtue of established social capital. I am so ashamed.
Monday night I listened to Becca Stevens, founder of Thistle Farms, Magdalene House, love as a condition to help and not against those who need it. I remain chastened that I still do not have that faith.
We'd crossed paths three times on Sunday, and still I will remain anonymous to those who need my help. I am so ashamed.
On Sunday, blacked out from another Bill's loss because they would play on Monday night only for pay, I watched some PBS Video about how small Vermont communities responded to Irene. Trailer trash elevated to social standing and neighbors hugging away small grudges.
They felt then that they had discovered something missing before the storm. It has not lasted.
Those of us with love still remaining in our hearts and minds must work to blur those boundaries between winners and losers. We must cross those internal boundaries to make trump irrelevant forevermore. This is not a man, this is an Avatar, and I watched him on old Netflix video, Black Mirror, projected on the side of a truck, invested by the spirit of a hapless comic. A smiley face gone foul.
The feminine has already triumphed and those who control the word have put up their last huzzah, and we will not be silenced. Quiet gentle voices will welcome in the wayward as you need succor and rest to come away from our abuses and addictions.
We will not allow pot to be grown by the agribusiness nightmare which gives us only corn. We have lived that nightmare already to caricature the native sotweed that we factor now still against the planet. We will no longer deploy Rosie the Riveter against those true believers who recognize us for what we are become. We are so over oil, fractured, leaking from underneath our bankrupted system.
No more STEM to disable love as a core value and even a necessary skill. Our economy does not need us that way, you and me, we must be scholars and academics and wisdom coming down from our cloister to welcome those who cannot understand what we would say. They will teach us to say it better.
I feel a rebirth and it is Christ the eternal feminine who is my champion. Not the Man, not the Word, not the engendered God. The spirit which moves within, the Qi to put the lie to our divisions, manifest always, manifest.
We will not go easily into this dark night. Love will light the way. As it was and ever has been. World without end without the Man in charge. We invested too much faith in systems. Of control, of writing, of spinning tales with Heroes who were not like you and me. There are different stories to tell now, different ways of knowing. All that we need do is to listen and read for the intonation. Hate will not become us.
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