Torn

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I know the house of representatives is about to sign on to the four hundred page ‘bailout’ of their own government boondoggle.  I know that hidden in those pages are even more ways of spending my money–ways that have nothing whatsoever to do with bailing anything out.  More bridges to nowhere.  Hundreds of bridges to nowhere.  When I don’t feel outraged and livid (there aren’t really strong enough words), I feel tired and hopeless.  The United States I knew as a child is functionally gone.  I grieve that loss deeply.

Then I look around.  When I woke up, I looked into my favorite face on earth.  Later, I found new e-mails full of the smiling faces of all the people I love most in this world.  I ate homemade granola with a perfect peach from last week’s farmer’s market with a dollop of thick, creamy yogurt.  I looked out the window and watched as two squirrels chased each other up and down a tree trunk.  Even a prisoner in a jail yard can appreciate the early sun on his jumpsuit and the song of a lark. 

I’m not a prisoner in a jail yard. 

 Yet, I have the possibility of becoming a prisoner of my own anger and fear every moment.  With my eyes on the government, I lose all ability to take joy in the steady and cheerful tick-tock, tick-tock of my Paris clock.  I forget that I CAN breathe, and see, and read, and take a walk with my husband in the autumn leaves.  I can pick up the phone and hear beloved  voices in a matter of seconds.  What is it that I want so badly that the government can take away from me?   What is it that I want so badly that I’ll fight for it and allow myself to be dominated with thoughts of it?   They only plan to take my money, right now.   Maybe it’ll get worse.  If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?

Come my people, Enter thou into thy chambers, shut thy doors about thee, hide thyself, as it were, for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast.

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Tags: autumn, farmer, government, market