It was a great scene this morning at our local polling place– the Kennett Friend's Meeting House! I arrived twenty minutes before the polls opened– in hopes of being voter #1– and ended up being behind twelve other early birds! By time I voted there were forty or so more people on line behind me. Everyone was clearly happy, engaged, and proud to be part of this incredible– truly American– event in spite of the ever present cynicism, vitriol, and straight up goofiness!
Speaking of which, I would like to clarify something– contrary to what cynical right-wing extremists and their candidate may spew– HOPE is indeed a strategy! A strategy to attain a far more greater goal; To treat respectfully those whom which we may not agree. To approach each other with civility and empathy. It's the golden rule folks! We've all learned it as children, and we all teach it to our children in kind. In the last dozen or so years politicians have done a great job broadening the chasm between– simple policy differences and respect and common-sense– by vilifying their opponents as well as their opponent's constituents (that would be YOU!)
OK– politically speaking we are a divided nation– I get it! But after the two last presidential cycles there doesn't seem to be any light at the end of this tunnel– especially beyond the current silly season. At least half the nation will be pissed at the other half– regardless of the outcome of the election. In fact if the election doesn't turn out the way I HOPE it will, I plan on being very pissed! If the election does turn out like I hope it will, I will still probably be pissed because the chance of ending up with the same snapshot of the current government is quite good and I don't think for a second John Boehner and his band of not so merry-men will be any less obstructive during a lame duck session of the White House than they were the previous four years!
I hope if you're reading this– I'm preaching to the choir. If I'm not...then– with all due respect– I civilly ask you to kiss my ass! Mi scusi!
During the next day or so– if you're celebrating or gawdfawbid cowering in despondency, take a minute to read this wonderful poem by Elizabeth Alexander.
There's always HOPE and it should be part of any strategy!
Praise Song for the Day
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.
We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.
I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.
In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.
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