I watched Trump carefully: He moves things around randomly but regardless, he keeps on moving them. In a log jam, this is a strategy which works, to some extent. When the world is energy is stagnant, and the landscape is pocked with shit holes and landmines, and of course, the Trumpian vision of Burgers, Melania, Mar-a-Lago, and descending the towers via the golden escalator, the crisis/messianic energy can only feed the rough and ready for so long.
Eventually, it is just not very palatable, and we are left imagining some menu with some other possibilities. What do they/we all want these days?
Each morning, I look at the news in the beautiful land that is being wantonly destroyed.
Seriously.
Putin. I have begun to see him as a modern day Bear Ears, the son of woman who married a bear in the deep folklore of a Russian forest. Sadly, old Bear Ears had a mother who in some way betrayed her own wildness, and appeared to collude in letting his shamanic uncle murder his father, as she returned to his kingdom in a state of weakness to live under his rule with her sister. Oh, she would have fit easily into the Labrador Spinsters’ Association, if we had found her in time.
I wonder about a man like this, Bear Ears, growing up like this, a mother who has been deeply injured, her wildness blended into the castle life, her sweet and abundant husband left to bleed and die and rot in the cave, a memory of something divine and sweet and lost.
Bear Ears was a good hunter, we find out. but seriously, who does this sort of thing, killing and bombing and destroying so much beauty.
Trauma makes for more trauma. It makes a standing wave of trauma. Like a frequency on a radio station that you might pass over on a late night drive through the outskirts of some city you are passing by. Like an electric fence designed to encapsulate the death star narrative and make for safe passages to friendlier places.
I also think about that King with the one eye. The Shamanic Uncle who holds some control; Somebody with a vision that will take us further than we have been before, someone who will carry us into a future of blended beauty and abundance.
Except… in truth: Some of us have two eyes in this metaphor of degrees of blindness. Together we have many many eyes….. a sea of seeing… that’s who we are when we sober up, regulate our emotional traumas and grow up.
Some of us have learned to triangulate with other two eyed people. Mark Knopfler wrote, I am imagine after some devastating tour of duty, “we have just one world, but we live in different ones.” Yes, we live in different ones until we reach a consensus about the truth.
The only way forward is to practice truth with each other. To talk to each other, and to consider the bigness of all the truths in the world, is still just one truth. We need an integration like this, as Teilhard wrote: “Noosphere” “Christogensis”….. something like that. Surely, these early thoughts are now extended by the considerations of Lisa Miller in the Neurobiology of Spirituality, et al…