I have news fatigue. This week makes my head spin….sometimes completely around. Dreamers and Russians and (so sadly) School Shootings. Mental illness and assault rifles. Food stamps transformed into cans of food. We cry and laugh and gnash our teeth in anger. No one told me one week could make me long for life on a desert island with not even the message of a ship in a bottle washing up.
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There is always something optimistic about a ride into Lancaster County where the Amish have a large presence. To see their world beside our own makes me know that a simpler life without cars and TV and such may be more inclusive of the world people created to live a self-sufficient existence. I know I could not be happy in such a contained world, but those who can and do live that life should be honored too. There are problems , of course. I smile at those who go up there and stay in themed hotels and take the buggy rides and feel they are being momentarily Amish. It’s a hard life.
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Candle light shows a small and intimate look and sunlight blazes, but there is a larger light out there still to come our way and ignite our endings. We are fascinated by the possibilities of all lighting, but this amazing conclusion we avoid. We must if we are to let the lesser lights guide us on.
I am told we never look up anymore. Out in the middle of the night with my dog waiting for him to decide a warm interior was better, I did look up at the sky. The stillness chilled me at first, but there were the stars in shattering brightness lying on the black velvet cloth of evening. I was momentarily stunned and breathless in the brief look out into a universe beyond. Look up when you can. There is no building high enough to blot out the worlds beyond us.
My thoughts on how I am forced to write in prose vanished from my blog. Elves? However, I am trying again to express the sadness I feel that events make me reduce the poetry in my head to prose on the page. How else can one write about the robbery of the poorest to aid the richest? Robin Hood stories have been told about heroes.
We need someone to put the poetry back into our hearts and lives. It is a season where the earth starts its journey back to summer. A season ripe with hope often, but this year prose is the only way we can discuss how life is going.
We have been had by one who has it all. We are getting coal, not tax relief, in our stockings. Perhaps that is how Trump is reviving the coal industry….ordering a lump for everyone under a million dollar income. The depressing ending to a year of global degradation and political strife.
Let’s have angels in the sky for the New Year singing something positive. Trump’s dirges make the world a sadder place.
Charles Manson, who thought he was the devil, is dead. However, the devil is not dead. Just an old man who used his life for evil. We are cautioned to speak only good of the dead, but what is there good to say about Manson? I hesitate to say , of course, I did not know him personally. Perhaps he did perform some kind acts. His public acts were otherwise. We locked him up for them and forgot him. But did the loved ones of the victims? and those who may have had some affection for him?
We should be careful in our desire not to be to bitter to recognize there is still evil in the world. Dark unknowable motivations that make an eclipse permanent of the bright sunny life.
If there is re-birth we will see his like again in another form. Don’t look for it. Plenty of sorrow here to gaze on, reflect on, and learn from.