These days when I find it very hard to get out of bed each morning, I have to think of something, some task, that I need to do. The quality parameters I demand of some task that would get me out of bed are that it must be progressive, must be creative in some small way, must be helpful to my home, family, co-workers, or my own sense of well-being; to be worthy enough to get me out of bed in the morning a task must be engaging enough to get my mind off the political shit-show I seem compelled to watch as it moves past my eyes. Humans have a hard time looking away from a car wreck.
Sadness comes from witnessing weaker minds follow the Trump heresy without question; sadness witnessing those livestock faces as Trump’s rallying crowds; sadness knowing that Trumps’ orbit is completely populated with a combination of willing sycophants (his fellow evil clowns) and the duped; sadness knowing that these people are all around me. Is this what it was like in mid-20th century Germany? Maybe. I need to believe there were sane, reasonable people who felt fear, sadness, and shame living among those who found fulfillment in encouraging the emergence of a tyrant.
Today I am shocked, frightened, appalled (pick an emotion) as Trump presides over the murder of American allies in Syria like a spoiled mean-little-kid shoving a toddler off a curb. Another bite of shame all around as Americans are forced to swallow up the daily heart-crushing horror of Trump’s infantile bumbling at every level of governance, in every arena of what has morphed into our American existence.
The politics, as heart-wrenching as it is, would be minor for me (a temporary aberration assuming Trump is unable to call off elections), if all humans would just acknowledge reality and work to help ourselves and all other planetary inhabitants to survive what is surely coming as the ozone weakens. Reports pop up in the news linking human activity with a global avalanche of environmental responses. Money-makers that benefit from the human activity causing our destruction put it out to the world that we should all ride buses and recycle if we’re so worried about things while they continue to exchange our future for more money in their pockets.
First, for me, was the confusion I experienced welcoming insects into my yard that I have never seen in the 26 years of living here and coming to realize why. And, then, was the bit of horror as a mysterious seastar wasting disease (a response to a new condition of the environment along the central Oregon Coast and beyond?) began a few years ago – big news at the time, then nothing, people stopped asking about it. All along the timeline of the last several years, I’ve watched reports of algal blooms that seem more frequent along the Pacific coastline endangering foragers of shellfish along with reports of cyanobacteria blooms that threaten humans and pets in some freshwater streams and lakes in Oregon; dead zones, low oxygen areas, in the nearshore waters off the coast of Oregon and Washington extending and worsening forcing animals that cannot escape to suffocate. On and on and on.
I observe reports but, I’m not an expert; I only see that the world is changing to a more dangerous place. I see that real and honest scientists are being stifled by Trump’s administration (a willing dupe of greedy billionaires) – the collared and controlled wolves of capitalism (disguised in scientist’s clothing) have been put in charge of the planetary research hen-house. Many of the agencies we depend on for accurate information have been corrupted.
It is easy to blame the bumbling clown Trump for all this, yeah? But he is only a useful idiot for greedy billionaires after all. Sometimes this all seems so futile. Hope as a human construct is crumbling for me. I’m not sure how long I can bear the pain. I’m at the point where I must rebuild hope every morning by thinking of some task to do. How long can that last?
So, well, today I’m up and doing. Writing this all down for my audience of one will help me move through this one’s day . . .maybe. When the hour seems very dark and sad, I console myself with memories of my childhood. Do kids even have childhoods these days? Today, I remember the feeling of cheering my team in the wooden stands at the Little League baseball field just outside town, with my family, on a warm and sunny day after school in Lakeview watching my brother pitch from the mound while trying to keep his shirt tucked-in per regulations. I love that memory.
Oregon Edge 