Thunder Fire and a Beating Heart
|©2108 Turtle Heart|
Once America actually seated Donald Trump, I have become very nearly speechless. While it is possible to express outrage, it turns out it does not matter now. The political right (GOP) has changed the very nature of reality as I once understood it. Facts no longer matters. Accusations of being a predatory criminal no longer matter. The truth is not important. The FBI is corrupt now. The National Intelligence community makes things up. No more regulations please; poison the water, gass the air we breathe, send all the animals and the trees and the minerals to the market. Keep no promises. Change your mind when the wind blows. Spit in the face of your enemies if you cannot outright punch them in the face. Let the poor eat cake. Let the Palestinians eat a bullet. Let's pump even more oil and by the way, let's elect Vlad Putin the King of the World, and then we can all take a pee-pee on the bed Obama once slept in.
That is where we are. It may not be entirely hopeless but this scenario is correct. Right. Now.
And that's OK with millions and millions of actual people.
My only solace is that I live thousands of miles away from this disaster, in another country. Out on my veranda everything is just right. Off in the distance we have a government that we really know nothing about.
Seeing it. Day after day. I don't really know what to say. So the blog has been silent. A.Long.Time.
I don't know who I am talking to really. Are you all Russian Agents? Any old Indians out there? Are you on the take or looking to see if I have any evidence against Hillary Clinton? I don't. Just a lament. For what might have been. What does any of this have to do with the world journey of a sacred pipe?
I remember once there was this idea: the indian pipe in the hands of a fool and the indian pipe in the hands of our most alert and awakened spiritual elder is the Same Pipe. The way Allah and Jehovah and God are the same deity, author of the same creation in which we dwell along with Buddha and Sitting Bull and Mike Pence and Yaphet Koto. The same place. By whatever name, blessed by whatever deity.
I am living thousands of miles away from home. Cut loose. But still attached by that thread of that Sacred Pipe that brought me here. Just at edge of going to sleep and breathing with the setting sun I embrace that ancient spirit wrapped up in that Sacred Pipe and I measure myself against it. As if it could see me or feel me. The absolute silence of god, the silence of that sacred object is the answer. I can find myself in that space, that sacred silent space. I can see all the way back and I can see ahead. I can feel myself in the actual world that surrounds me. I continue to do that. Every. Day.
Silence is not what it used to be.