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dark time, and perhaps all the sorrow of all the ages. All the wars. All the efforts to stop them--which have often been the efforts of women--all the way back to the Greeks.
All we can do now--given our stolen elections and the betrayals of our Democratic Party leaders--is mourn.
Poor woman! I mourn with you Cindy--for your son and all the other victims of the war profiteers. It is a tragedy, possibly of immense proportions beyond anything we can comprehend. The tragedy of the human race killing its own planet, and itself. Killing all future children. Killing all life on earth.
Ah, me! Perhaps all we can say for ourselves is that we feel it. We allow ourselves to feel. Some do not, and they are the ones who may be dragging us to our doom.
I was raised on literature, and thus infused with the tragic vision: that every great hero is tragically flawed, and that every great dream is ultimately doomed. I don't share that vision any more. It was invented by men, for men, and is too one-sided. And it has sometimes well-served the interests of fascists and powermongers. The other vision is that life is a feast, an abundant gift of the Great Mother, and our purpose here is to appreciate the beauty of that gift, and enjoy it, and share it. That is difficult to do when you are caught up in--and ravaged by--yet another of the great tragedies that men create.
But we must. We must appreciate the beauty of life. Who else will? Who else is there?
May the Great Mother comfort you, and give you new life and beauty, Cindy! And please know how profoundly important and unifying your protest has been, despite all appearances, and despite our common failure to stop the killing. I don't know how all this will end, but if it ends well, you will have contributed greatly to that awakening, and if it does not end well, it will not be for lack of effort on your part. In any case, it must be a collective endeavor--to restore our democracy, to end war and to save our besieged and polluted planet. It's not up to you, or me, or any individual, all by ourselves. We cannot do it by ourselves. And perhaps we cannot do it on their terms--in their halls of power, through their deadening "news" channels, amidst their lethal conspiracies, climbing their dark towers --or in reaction to their vile atrocities. Perhaps we need to find a fresher path, some revolution of the human spirit that barely grazes our consciousness as yet, that will balance all this sorrow and pain and tragedy with the sweetness and abundance that every mother wishes for her child.
Mother Cindy, be well! Look to the fresher path. Know that you are loved, and that you gave many people whom you will never know the greatest of gifts: the ability to feel the war.
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