It’s not like anyone could have predicted it, right? The hell with promised stimulus checks when you can go drop bombs on Syria.
It’s amazing. With the wealth of disturbing problems festering, nay, flourishing, in our country, willful destruction with bombs remains the go-to behavior. Return to normal, eh? Not impressed with the new administration thus far, whoever it actually is, on any counts. I say NO to dropping bombs.
I don’t know about you, but, for me, the news, even as it dominates our daily lives, has become absolutely worthless. It’s become nonstop coverage of government, government figures, government data, government posturing, government restrictions, government policing, government cover-ups, government blah-blah-blah. Oh, and, still, a whole lot of sports.
I’m really sick and tired of government 24-7. I have no use for glorified sports. And it all looks like propaganda to me.
Remember what news used to be?
Good old-fashioned newspapers used to have a local, community focus. Yes, you could read what your local government was up to, but you could also read about businesses, about community programs, about social events, about local concerns. There used to be whole sections devoted to features — glimpses into what cool things people in your community were into, along with what churches were up to, what was going on in the schools (actual education, not just controls and sports), art, music, books, movies, cooking, and more. Columnists were local people writing about the community, or about how big issues impacted the local community.
These newspapers actually served to connect us with our communities and society and ideas.
Now, there isn’t much community to be had — in newspapers or elsewhere. Most community newspapers were swallowed up by national media entities which reduced them to a local story or two surrounded by a wealth of wire stories on the usual government and sports crap. They might still include some local crime information because that’s useful, divisive propaganda. They might throw in a dose of a generic wire feature to give the illusion there’s real people out there — somewhere.
I look at the last vestiges we have of local news, and it’s all pretty much worthless whether online or in print. It’s just garbage.
The big news outlets, obviously, amount to garbage, serving only to remind us on a daily basis how extremely propagandized we are.
Hence, there’s the usual sorting through of blogs and social media, much of which is now conveniently censored.
It all serves to erode and oppress community and agency, and, God forbid, ideas. And it’s no accident. Nevertheless…
What becomes of children raised in a society laser-focused on fear and separation?
What becomes of people in the context of ever-deepening loss of community, connection, and culture?
What happens when people lose their personal privacy, integrity, and decision-making?
What becomes of a society that loses respect for differing opinions? A society in which debate, discourse, other points of view, and ideas that don’t fit the narrative are not acceptable, but rejected and censored away?
What happens to people’s health as social fabric disintegrates and the true tenets of health are ignored, obfuscated, and not supported?
What happens to a society relying on quick fixes like experimental medical treatments instead of actually taking care of health through true nutrition, exercise, rest, purposeful work, and good social connection and support?
What becomes of a society which tolerates the loss of autonomy and freedom, and the growth of state regulation, propaganda, and tyranny?
What becomes of children raised in a society that is very good at virtue signaling but fundamentally lacks compassion?
I have had a few angels in my life. I have some right now, I suppose.
I imagine that the loved ones I have lost must be very, very busy in the next life. It’s rather ridiculous to imagine they have time to notice what’s going on in the old one, but, every now and then, it’s clear, they do. I wonder how that works. I wonder if I will understand it when it’s my turn.
I hope I can be one of those. I hope I can somehow arrive at just the perfect, most needed moment, and say the right words. I hope I can somehow arrange a smile on lips otherwise trembling with tears. I hope I can be that space where you know you are okay, that someone genuinely sees you, whole and utterly accepted even in the mystery that you are. I hope I can be the arms, always open, that somehow hold you, making no demands. I hope I am that place where whatever love you bring, no matter how disguised or disfigured, is always enough. I hope I can be the infinite love that was always there even when you couldn’t feel it.
Because the angels — they have done all those things for me.
I suspect the next life is just as busy as this one. I am not in the camp that supposes there is a lot of lounging around with harps on clouds. No, it’s busy, it’s full, it’s beautiful, it’s creative, because how could it be less than this life?
Evidently, though, it’s somehow even bigger. Because I know the angels are there. They’ve made that apparent, transcending space and time and dimensions I don’t have the capacity to imagine. I am grateful. And I am trying.