PESSIMISM IS FOR LIGHTWEIGHTS by Selena Godden

Think of whose that marched this road before

And those that will march here in years to come

The road in shadow and the road in the sun

The road before us and the road all done

History is watching us and what will we become

This road is all flags and milestones

Immigrant blood and sweat and tears

Built this city, built this country

Made this road last all these years 

This road is made of protest

And those not permitted to vote

And those that are still fighting to speak

With a boot stamping on their throat

There is power and strength in optimism

To have faith and to stay true to you

Because if you can look in the mirror

And have belief and promise you

Will share wonder in living things

Beauty, dreams, books and art

Love your neighbor and be kind

And have an open heart

Then you're already winning at living

You speak up, you show up and stand tall

It's silence that is complicit

It's apathy that hurts us all

Pessimism is for lightweights

There is no straight white line

It's the bumps and curves and obstacles

That make this road yours and mine

Pessimism is for lightweights

This road was never easy and straight

And living is all about living alive and lively

And love will conquer hate.

                  Selena Godden, b. 1972 Hastings, UK

 

OH TREES. "I WOULD ALMOST SAY THEY SAVE ME, AND DAILY" Mary Oliver

OH TREES.  "I WOULD ALMOST SAY THEY SAVE ME, AND DAILY" Mary Oliver

 "A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance."  Ecclesiastes 3"4

Winter Trees

We learn in Mindfulness that all emotions are valid.  How we feel counts.  Many of us feel sad about America.  Sad about our future and sad about the two men at the top, Musk and Trump.  Sad too about the lovelies they have appointed to our most sensitive posts: health, education, budget, defense, state and national security.

Sad that park rangers are being let go.  Sad that Federal workers must resign or be fired.  Sad that grants for cancer research are blocked in universities in every state, from Mississippi to Maine.  Sad that funds from USAID are no longer feeding victims of famine, war and genocide.  Sad that children are being punished for their gender, over which, God help us, they have no control. Sad that Trump, in trademark projection, called Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky a dictator. 

We need to resist.  On President's Day--what protesters from every state called No Kings Day--I saw a sign that read "They're eating the CHECKS, they're eating the BALANCES."  Another, "FIRE ELON."  And a third, closer to home, "Fake Christians, REAL EVIL." 

But we also need antidotes to sadness.  My antidote is to go outside.  Poet Mary Oliver says about trees, "I would almost say they save me, and daily." 

On 'No Kings Day' the trees saved me.  I went into the woods to move wild Hellebores from where I can't see them to right by my door.  Often called the Christmas or Lenten rose, they bloom near Holy Days to remind us of birth and resurrection.

Hellebores

That afternoon it was 60 degrees and muddy.  I fell to my knees and dug up as many as I could from deep in our woods where they flourish without fear of hungry deer, since root, stem and flower are all poisonous.  Even the squirrels leave them alone.  

What does this mean?  If they survive the deer and squirrels, maybe their beauty is meant for us, we with minds and hearts to look for consolation in the beauty of creation that lies at our door.

Maybe while we do whatever we must to protect our democracy, we can go outdoors and be sheltered by the trees.  We can gain strength from the roses presaging Easter and the beautiful white snow surprising us today.  All of us need comfort.  All of us need faith that while it is a time to mourn, sometime it will be time to dance. 

For such a time, let us pray to the Lord.  Until then, Lord have mercy.

In peace, Nina Naomi. 

 

"NO MAN IS AN ISLAND"

It's one of those days again, one of those uniquely American days when a death has been caused by unjustified violence.  ("Another Week of Shootings," 8/4/19)  Just when we were feeling like maybe our emotions could handle the pandemic better than we had hoped.  Just when we had our new routines down and were finding our balance.  

Not a shooter this time, but a police officer pressing his knee into the back of the neck of a man in handcuffs lying face-down on the ground.  Pressing with his full weight while the man pleaded: "Please.  I can't breath." Over and over.  Pressing for at least 5 minutes until there was no pulse.  Then 3 minutes more. Inexplicable. The whole world by now has seen the videos.  The man who was killed was black, the officer white.  This happened on Monday, Memorial Day.

While the rest of us were improvising our holiday, Derek Chauvin had George Floyd pinned to the asphalt, crushed under the weight of this officer who had a history of conduct complaints.  Mr. Floyd was being arrested for suspicion of spending a counterfeit $20 bill at a deli, a misdemeanor.  Minneapolis is angry.  So are other communities.  The Third Precinct where Chauvin worked was burned last night.  Tonight the protestors kneel with hands raised and chant "George Floyd, George Floyd."  But the CNN building in Atlanta is being defaced as I write.  Protest is our right.  Property damage is not.  Everything is complicated.  Nothing is simple. The protestors are all colors but more young than old.  Many wear homemade masks in lieu of social distancing.  More of the strangeness of the times. 

Only a few of us can remember the 5 days of riots in Watts, Los Angeles in 1965; a few more the beating of Rodney King by police in 1992.  Today Chauvin was charged with murder.   

Why talk about this?  Or about the milestone of 100,000 people in the United States dead from the coronavirus? (We reached that grim number yesterday at 3:40 pm with a death in Illinois.)  After all, as long as we don't live in Minneapolis, as long as we aren't sick with the virus, I'm not impacted very much.  My granddaughter's  school team won 1st place in "Battle of the Books" today; I did Zoom Yoga; my husband got some work done.  We carried on. 

Of course we know why.  "No man is an island," as John Donne said way back in 1624. He was right.  We don't want a racial divide.  We don't want police brutality.  We don't want our buildings burning.  We don't want to pass a virus to our neighbors.  We don't want hungry children.  We want safe neighborhoods, full stomachs and good health.  And we want it for all of us.  I remember an old song sung by Helen Reddy,  You and Me Against the World.  But that's not really what our lives are like. Let's look instead at the meditation by John Donne:

"No Man is an Island" 
No man is an island entire of itself; 
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, 
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; 
any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee.   
MEDITATION XVII
John Donne

                                      From Nina Naomi