thanks 2011

I must be a psycho or suffer from multiple personality disorder. Part of me gazes out, soaking in the world and can’t find anything to be thankful for. Not one thing. The other part, gentle as a lam, could walk hand in hand with St. Francis of Assisi through a forests of wild beast turned peaceful by the simple fact that we were not acting like the wacked out human beings that we are. We are the mad species and every creature, tree and blade of grass in the garden knows it. That’s why we were tossed out long ago.

Indeed, each of us is brimming with boundless innate goodness. And every one of us is carrying around a brain chock full of nonsense, calling ourselves Democrats, Republicans, all the ideologies, all the religions, nationalities, casts, races and the self-centered money-power-politics this collective madness spawns.

Our hypocrisy is so vast, so blatant. We teach our little children about the first Thanks Giving when the nice Indians helped the Pilgrims. We don’t tell them that Columbus boiled their grandparents in oil or that we, white God serving men and women, used biological warfare (smallpox) to steal these first nation people’s land and murder off their culture. We are a greedy, selfish, self-righteous lot and proud of it.

We are a Christian nation. So was Spain when the King and Queen cooked up a plot called the Inquisition, that genocidal scheme to rid themselves of the Jews and conveniently confiscate their property. This mad hatters party sucked out of the western psyche the worst depravity possible, new heights of satanic-barbarism in the name of God and goodness – and the bash lasted over three hundred years.

Things have not gotten any better. Benjamin Franklin understood the Boston Tea party and the American Revolution, Paul Revere, George Washington and the new American flag had nothing to do with tea. The war was fought, not for religious freedom, a double speak cover story, but freedom from the clutches of the Central Bank of England, the same folks that our Occupy Wall Street Patriots are fighting today. OWS is today’s Boston Tea Party, but instead of British soldiers, the mercenaries of the central bankers, our rag-tag-band of merry men and women are fighting the same mercenaries dressed in different costumes.

How can a sane person, if you can find one, be thankful realizing that we have been working overtime during the 20th and first decade of the 21st century to top the Inquisition and its murderous madness for profit? One in three Americans lives (if you can call it that) at or below the poverty levels. Walking through the typical market is like trying to find water in the Death Valley. There is no food in the grocery store, at least none that won’t stunt your growth, make you explode like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, rot your teeth, clog your arteries and dull what’s left of your mind. That will be $150 per bag, thank you and have a nice day. Even preschoolers are on dope-for-profit drugs pushed every night by lovely fantasy ads on the telly.

By nearly every measure the madness that banished us from the garden eons ago has gotten progressively worse. We grow less aware each day how truly crazy we have become. Go down to the local loony-bin and sit on a bench with grannie. Go on, have a good chat. Does she think she is crazy? No more that Newt Gingrich, the good-ol-boys at the Pentagon or the Pope.

And yet, living in the thick of it as most of us do, I am profoundly grateful for the little moments of innocent beauty; the delight of a three year old nose to nose on the floor with tail-wagging collie. I am deeply moved by the communal experience of a hand touching mine. I am blessed to be able to say something that brings peace to another’s anxious moment. To reach through the mental madness and tug on that thin string that connects me to every living thing.

Of all the molecules in the physical universe mine get to feel the wet salty mist when a wave crash on the rocks below. I get to feel the sun on my face. I get to dream. I get to laugh and cry. I get to create and experience the way others express the same creative zeal. I am blessed to look up and see the blueness of the sky. When I am still I can feel what others are feeling, almost hear their thoughts and they mine. Wow, how great is that? I have the privilege of being able to type this rant, pop it in a make believe bottle and toss in into the internet-sea knowing it will land on some distant shore and pop out like a genie. Not that it matters, the joy is in the simple intimate act of creating. The meaning of life is what we make of it.

Most of all I am thankful because I know a species can pretend to be insane for only so long. We have reached the end. Like children playing hide and seek, sooner or later – the truth pops out. Joseph Chilton Pearce called it The Biology of Transcendence, that luminous light that knows, that is kind, compassionate, generous, caring, full of curiosity, humor, affection and intelligence, that stands strong in the face of all this madness and with such grace.

Notice all these amazing possibilities are not ideas. They are not beliefs, not dogma, not rules, or answers on a test, grades, trophies or stories found in what some claim to be a holy book. This amazing bundle of ever-changing possibilities is what I really am - and I get to see and experience what pops out next. I can’t wait!

When the bouncing ball hits bottom, where does it go? It goes up and up, and up, so high we can only watch with wonder the unfolding miracle that we are just about to become. And for this precious moment, yes, I am profoundly thankful.