I have mentioned here before the blog of an artist, Gary Myers, whose work I admire. (Corrected link under Gary's name.) Gary is self-taught, his work is collected throughout the world and has hung in US embassies. His iconic Red Tree stands (to my thinking) for the lone man/woman, an idea I am drawn to over and over again. No doubt because that is how I see myself. But there is more to my following his blog than that.
Gary writes about more than just his art that sometimes sounds like the thoughts which rattle around in my brain. He speaks my thoughts, only in a more considered, coherent manner than I usually can (especially in the last five years). The link on his name above leads to an example of what I mean, what I would say had my spirit not died five years ago when service-related PTSD took up residence in my head.
I learned about the El Paso massacre while out for dinner with my grandson last night. I didn't know about Dayton until this morning when I read Gary's post. I thought I was beyond being stunned by anything that happens in the country anymore, especially under the reign of the Enfant Terrible, but I am wrong. After enduring so many last-straw events since the White House was invaded and continues being held hostage, the progress I make dealing with PTSD slips backwards, sliding toward the darkness that ruled most of the first 14 months in therapy.
This morning, I am stunned. I am shocked and dismayed. I am sickened and numb; and feel helpless and confused. I know from past experience with this sort of response that I will move beyond these initial feelings and get back on the right track, will move forward again.
But what about the families and friends in these two communities who lost loved ones? How long will they have to live in the darkness that follows this tragedy (Christ, what an inadequate word!), this insanity? How long will the Great Instigator go unscathed in the aftermath of what he has wrought?
I feel a great wave of sobs coming on, probably the only reasonable response right now. The tears are not for me, because this travesty isn't about me. The tears and sadness are for the communities of El Paso and Dayton this morning.
There likely will more to come, for other communities before the madness is stopped.
5 comments:
We have entered a dark time, of which human history is rife. I will seek out the helpers, the gains, the compassion. Turning my back on the evil, and it will eat me up from behind, while the love pours out in front of me. The wheel turns, and cruelty is in our nature as much as kindness. I can do no good at all staring at the decaying ideals, and doing my mite of good is all I have.
Crusades, Inquisitions, massacres and plagues are the forest fires of our species, clearing away the old. Shiva dances horrors, new sprouts between the toes. It is all suffering, all grief, but how else would we know joy? Eat the perfect strawberry as we drop to our mortal end.
I struggle to see just how the continual US shootings can be contained. Even if your gun ownership laws could be rescinded (which I can't see happening given your vociferous gun lobby) it would still leave millions of the things in circulation.
Your "President" certainly does not help - the orange buffoon. I see the Trump millions originated when his grandfather opened hotels/brothels for the Yukon gold rush prospectors.
Nevertheless, I feel for you Martha. This world becomes ever more dystopian.
"But in my spirit I will dwell
And dream my dream and hold it true"
I'm sorry, Martha. I have no words of comfort to offer. I feel as helpless as perhaps you do, my only solace is to know that next year we can vote the POS out of office.
Thanks for posting these thoughts and sharing the link, Martha. It’s a frightening thing to live in a country in a state of shock — which also seems to be a country so inured to these horrific episodes that they don’t register for very long.
So many people are trying to figure out how to live in these times, how to manage daily life when things are so wrong. I have no answer.
If it's any comfort you write better - more coherently, more tellingly, more vividly - now. Presumably in illness. Better equipped to react to, and record, the horrors that appear almost continuously in a USA which is now unrecognisable as the country I embraced in the late sixties, even though they were the years of Nixon. There will come a time, I promise, when you are able to read your stuff and say to yourself: at least that nailed it. There'll be a comfort in that.
And for what it's worth (not much, alas) I have passed through outrage and emerged into calculated mockery. Easy for me to do since I'm half a world away from the sources of distress. Mockery because among his many failings DT lacks a sense of humour (see how rarely he smiles) and cannot deal with laughter. I realise it's hard to mobilise laughter when one is appalled but to me it seems the best weapon. The people at CNN use it effectively and from time to time I am cheered by their detached approach. Detachment clears the mind and refines the choice of words. Yeah, words seem feeble but they're all we've got.
Meanwhile, as I say, I may read your comments to my blog written in happier times. Hoping for their return. Times when I was, rather surprisingly, "thee" and felt the word's warmth.
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