Kentucky Rules!

My question to America is this:

How and why do we allow a single senator from Kentucky to control a path of America’s future?

He refused to let President Obama Supreme Court nominee,  Merrick Garland, ever to get a hearing before the Senate delaying a possible liberal justice from ever becoming a member of the Supreme Court.

McConnell has never run for national office, nor does he represent a majority of American citizens. He is one of two Senators in the 26th ranking state. Because he is Senate Majority Leaders in the Senate, he has power.

Kentucky’s population is roughly four-million 399-thousand. The rest of us number 304-million, give or take a few hundred thousand. He has hardly a plurality for the immense power of obstruction and unilateral decision granted to his office.

Mitch McConnell uses a power that is un-earned, unfair and in a democracy may be unconstitutional. He even brags about his decision being able to move the country to the right of center.

He seemingly cares not for the compassion of many in more liberal constituencies and only for his narrow view of life and liberty honed in the great state of Kentucky.

A question on life's value

I was sitting reading by a big picture window on Saturday when a Downy Woodpecker hit the window with a loud slam. The Downey’s are the smallest of the Woodpecker family in North America.

I went out on the deck and the little bird was breathing heavily and writhing. I was at a loss at what to do. I did not want to frighten it further by rushing to its side. I tried to send it healing thoughts of love and compassion, but quickly it turned over a few times and died.

I was saddened by the visual experience of this little creature whose life just ended in front of me. I picked up the lifeless, but still warm bird. It was so soft and light, just ounces of weight.

My heart ached for this loss of a life force as I disposed of the little one with a private prayer and the unanswerable question of why.

A few hours later I killed an ant crawling on the kitchen counter. The second I did so I felt a questioning remorse.

Was the bird’s life and my sadness at its ending more sacred than the life of the ant? Why did I not feel sadness for the ant especially after my experience with the Downy Woodpecker?

These are questions we all need to ask ourselves as we go through the emotional experiences of conscious choice.

One ending I witnessed and the other I caused.  The dichotomy of sensitive emotion is troubling.

More on the Children

I know there are many sides to every story. I know it more than most. My heart will not let this story go.

I know that the only side of this story I hear now; the only side of this story I feel now are the pleadings, desperate cries of children calling for their “Daddy” or “Mommy.”

Those cries transcend laws, both the made-up political laws and the real statues that enable current interpretation to sanctify cruelty under the guise of protecting America.

When laws are enacted, they are constituted under circumstances that existed at the moment. The passage of time, whether an hour or decades often changes that; then we need to change the laws quickly.  To falsely insist Democrats are to blame for family separations is an egregious attempt to justify a cruel and inhumane policy to force legislative action.

I have joined the indigent throng of American’s, both republican and democrat, who say “this is wrong.”

Donald Trump is the first president who has exercised and embossed the inherent dictatorial powers of the presidency. Something that we need, as a nation, to look at constitutionally. Mr. President, before we collectively have the opportunity to send you away to the judgment of history move your ego and arrogance aside and do the right thing. The pleas of intellect do not work for you, perhaps, the wails and tears of little children will.

Children ripped from their families

I am appalled. I am ashamed of my country. I am angry at a policy that is inhumane and an affront to the sacredness of family. I am alarmed that the United States of America cleaves children from their parents who cross our borders to seek a better life.

In plain and simple words. It is wrong. It is cruel. It must stop.

Where is the once sturdy backbone of America? Where is the outrage? Where is the indignation? Where is the ethic of compassion? Where is Congress?

 This policy is a putrid blot on the history of America. There are other ways, so let us find them.

The Stars and Stripes

There was a time in our history when our flag was empty of experience. It had the symbolism of a united people and the expectation of greatness, but we were a young country and as yet had little collective history.

The United States wasn’t even a year old when Continental Congress adopted the flag design on June 14th, 1777. Now as we celebrate Flag Day this week, we remember that our flag is much more than red and white cloth stripes and symbolic stars in blue.

The flag was never political. Death takes that option away.

Our flag is everything that’s ever happened to our country and everything we’ve ever done. It’s victory and defeat. It’s protests and pageantry. It’s honor with humility and shame with remorse. It’s living with principle and dying for it.

Above all our flag is the waving symbol for all to see our passion for liberty, our sustaining belief in the democratic ideal, and our willingness to spend life and treasure for freedom for all.

Life's Squalls

A couple of weeks ago.

It was gray, then dark and darker still as a squall line approached my small river valley. It spilled over a distant ridge with flashes of light and the rumbled echoes of thunder.

The wind and rain started intermittently and slowly increased in intensity. The cherry blossoms outside my window felt the rain first. Each bloom bounced and shook as raindrops hit them from above. The droplets pounced and plundered pushing the pink petals from their blossom home. Each flower a pink faucet in a dripping surreal painting that Dali could have painted.

Within minutes it ended and behold the sun popped out from underneath the passing line of clouds. Golden light sparkled through the diamond drops that lingered on the blossoms, leaves, and grasses. Each drop, a value of several karats of refracted light; a Tiffany of brilliance.

The refraction stayed for awhile, then slowly came dusk. It’s was like opening a decorated and colorfully wrapped package to see a dark gray box below. Dusk is an apt name for the light of the settings sun. It could be called dimming, or waning or leaving, but dusk works as the light fades below the horizon.

Finally a red fire sky, only for a moment or two, and then dusk to dark. Part of me wanted to rage against the dimming of the light, as the poet suggested, but that’s another light for another time. This light will be back in just a few hours to start all over again.

Perhaps each squall line of life is a lesson of the light beyond it if we choose to see it.

Singapore Summit

I am watching the surreal theatre from Singapore where the President of the United States and the so-called supreme leader of North Korea are meeting for the first time. Each leader has a public agenda shared to the global media and also another one unknown to the other.

I say theatre because in many ways the audience, we, the rest of the world are held captive as an unwitting audience and also players in the global drama that potentially climaxes with death and destruction in a last act of a nuclear war.

Part of me wants to say this is good that the bellicose protagonists are meeting and maybe something positive may result and another part of me is skeptical that neither one of these men care whether a permanent peace is a conclusion; they care that the play emblazes their individual stardom locally and globally.

It is inconceivable to me that these two men of dubious character hold in their ego’s and countries power the future of the human race. How or why do we allow that to happen? The only answer I can embrace is that we, in a subliminal way, are participants, as play- writes in this drama, in order for all of us to grow and to learn that love is the only answer to hate, prejudice, and regional nationalism.

If prayer helps, I’ll do it.

What's in a Name?

In my motoring travels, I often choose to take the back roads of America. It puts me through the small towns and villages of America. Since I'm not driving fast, in those places, I can notice the street names. So many of them are named after trees, flowers, fruits, and shrubs.

Maple Street, Oak Street, Pine Street, Willow Place, Cypress Street, Holly Circle, Honeysuckle Lane, Cherry Avenue, Orange Street, Rose Street and Spruce Loop.

Why not include the lesser liked plants, trees and vine?. Why not a Weed Avenue, Poison Ivy Lane, Mold Circle, Dandelion Drive and Sumack Avenue. You never hear of a Swamp Hollow or Nutty Drive. Who wants to live on those streets?

Even the names of people have a connotation that is either positive or negative. The study of proper names is called onomatology. Very few parents today name their kids Tucinalda or Furlough or Rolland.

AND why not what’s wrong with those names?