But I could not write of the end of my country today. It was too depressing; the list simply refused to roll off my fingers. Though I believe it is true, Death of America is not what I want to write today.
I want to write of faith.
To offer praise and gratitude to Goddess and God for a rare blue sky in a Western Oregon February morning.
To feel the beauty in the rain I know will soon fall, likely before I make it out to the sunshine.
To believe government-by-the-people was divinely inspired and that divine creations cannot be destroyed by men.
To know in my bones our right to pursue happiness really was given by our blessed creators as inalienable and that somehow, some way those systematically trying to appropriate the material means of happiness for themselves alone will be stopped. Or simply stop, remembering their own faith (and kindergarten teacher) that shared blessing is the only road to real bliss.
I have no faith today. But Faith is the only way; write about it anyway.
I want to write of Hope.
To believe divine principles of love and light will revive themselves brightly and soon enough to shine away the dark before it completes its destructive work.
That the masses being divided and trodden today will rise up in solidarity tomorrow to reclaim peacefully and compassionately the people-based nation and world they created and were working to perfect before this latest darkness crept in.
I want to believe that the well-attended and powerful, rural citizen-created Iraq War Town Halls held in Four of Oregon's Five Congressional Districts this week portend a world-wide, grassroots, dedicated movement for peace and harmony.
I want to imagine our leaders and the powerful will be inspired by (not just cynically co-opt) our mass movement to recreate lost principles and structures of justice and resume our suspended march to expand the deepest notions of justice to all of humanity.
I want to believe that the great vision and words of Jefferson, Lincoln, the Roosevelts, the Kennedys and King will cease being distorted to camouflage tyranny and violence and resume their rightful role to guide our actions, found our principles, forge our institutions and restore our dignity.
I do not feel this hope today. But Hope is the only way; write about it anyway.
I want to write of Love.
Not just the love I feel for the woman who pledges each day to remain wedded to me; or of my children, parents, friends, and fellow progressive sojourners for truth in these dark days.
Not just my love for the tortured souls who harm us; not even only for the terrorists who attack us. Loving the outside attacker is written in all the great books, by all the great masters. That they are to be loved because they act from desparation and instilled hatred can be understood, even if extremely difficult to practice.
No, I want to write of love for the ones killing my country; for Bush, Cheney and the neocons methodically making the American Dream a lie. I want to see them as blessed children of God, misguided though they may be, flailing around in pain, causing them to lash out so viciously and take so voraciously from the powerless and obedient. I want to see them as little crying babies needing to be held. This measure of Love is the most difficult; loving the ones who know better and commit atrocities anyway, who claim to serve us and act to enslave us. But the spiritual masters say it plainly: it is easy to love your friends; loving your enemies is the true test of your love.
I do not feel that measure of love today. But Love is the only way; write about it anyway.
I am saddened by the anticipation that writing about hope, faith and love in America today will be seen as trite, naïve and perhaps even harmful to igniting the mass uprising we need. I am saddened that I feel that way even as I write and offer this little prayer. Perhaps I will write about the end of America tomorrow, but today hope, love and faith prevailed in my heart.
Maybe not so dead. Guess I gotta get back to the work of reviving her.