Because I’m too old to be an astronaut viewing our fragile, diverse planet from space, I left the fog to drive up to the top of Mt. Tam, and circle through landscapes.
Above the Fog
Struggling with the News
Today I’m not sick, but I feel sick. Where does one put the continuing lies and disgrace?
From Heather Cox Richardson: Trump was hosting a fund raiser at Mar-a-Lago on Friday, as the U.S. offensive began. The New York Times reported last November that tickets for the dinner dance were $1 million apiece. The optics of Trump partying with his rich cronies while American soldiers died is at least partly what is behind the fact that today,
“#SendBarron” trended on social media.
She goes on and comes to this: Natasha Bertrand, Zachary Cohen, and Jennifer Hansler of CNN reported this evening that briefers from the Pentagon today told congressional staff that Iran had not been planning to attack U.S. forces or bases in the Middle East unless Israel attacked first. Trump administration officials said on Saturday that Iran was planning to strike the U.S. preemptively and thus posed an imminent threat. The briefers said there was no intelligence to support that claim. Trump seems unclear about the end game of the conflict he has started.
From Robert Hubbell: Trump started an illegal war on Iran just as the DOJ was under intense pressure to release three FBI interviews with a 13-year-old-girl who accused Trump of sexual abuse. The attack on Iran should not reduce public pressure for the release of documents that may shed light on that accusation and the DOJ’s complicity in covering up Trump’s involvement in the Epstein sex trafficking enterprise.
He goes on: But most importantly, I will address the new round of fears by Americans that the war on Iran will be used as a pretext for the declaration of a national emergency to interfere with the 2026 midterms. That is undoubtedly Trump’s half-baked plan; he may attempt to do so; but he will fail if he tries—because we and the courts will stop him.
I know we need to continue to fight, and for today, I’m wrapped in a cocoon of protection to renew and balance on what’s good and true. Family and friends were snorkeling in the Caribbean. I offer a respite from the sea.
Thoughts on War
I’m reading John Kenney’s book, Truth in Advertising: A Novel. It’s a book on advertising and the manipulation of words, and an angry father, and how that affects his wife and children. I come to where the son is scattering his father’s ashes at his father’s request. His father wants them scattered where he learned WWII has ended. He was on a submarine out of Pearl Harbor when he learned the war was over.
The son thinks of how it was for those who fought as they look back from old age and post photos and memories on websites. “And so they share their history, their story, their moment in time.”
For example: “How is it I am eighty-seven years old? How will I be remembered? We fought in a war. We risked our lives for a cause. It mattered. We mattered. Didn’t we?”
Kenney goes on. “The United States submarine service sustained the highest mortality rate of all branches of the U.S. military during WWII. One out of every five U.S. submariners was killed in WWII.”
“Take a steel tube, put it three hundred feet underwater, take away its sight except for the most rudimentary sonar, send it out into a war. But before you do, fill it with teenagers and tell them not to be afraid.”
“Would you go to work if you had a twenty percent chance of dying?”
I think of my father who flew missions in a B-17, more than was required in WWII, until the plane was shot down, and he parachuted out, and turned over to the SS was incarcerated in a P.O.W. camp until the end of the war.
And now, we have a man who never served, sending people needlessly to die to save his skin from horrendous acts he committed. When will he and his puppeteers be stopped? Surely now, our Congress will stop him from doing what he has no power or authority to do.
Sunshine
I walked Tennessee Valley today along with many others who were drawn outside to celebrate the day. It was so warm I felt like a cormorant drying my wings as I walked with arms outspread. Butterflies called by the sun swarmed around me like a cocoon. Water streamed down the hills to join the ocean as one.
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Living
John O’Donohue:
I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.
Spring
I have to laugh when Trump says:“The cheating is rampant in our elections. It’s rampant. … They want to cheat. They have cheated. And their policy is so bad that the only way they can get elected is to cheat and we’re going to stop it.”
Who’s in office? Is he admitting he cheated to get there? That’s what I conclude.
To anchor myself amidst the lies, I’m reading Evelyn Underhill’s book Practical Mysticism. Written in 1914 to counteract the horror of World War I, she leads us within to nourish, and to bring forth the supple sensing that connects us with wonder and awe.
It’s raining here, inviting an invitation to ground and rise.
Fire Horse
This morning, we have lightning, thunder, wind, rain, and hail. Change is blowing in.
Robert Hubbell writes today that he and his wife attended a conservative Catholic church in Tennessee. About 15 minutes into a rules-based sermon, the priest said, “And now we must address the elephant in the room: The Epstein Files.”
The priest went on to condemn the administration for “redacting the names of the powerful men who abused children.” He then urged the parishioners to “call your representatives and Senators, tell them to release the Epstein files in unredacted form.”
We’ve learned from a text between Epstein and Bannon that the two of them were calling for the 25th Amendment to be applied to Trump in 2019 for incapacity. And yet, the money behind Trump has him still here, and this is the year he goes. It’s the Fire Horse year.
Fire and Snow
It’s the Chinese Lunar New Year, Year of the Fire Horse. The last two nights I’ve made a fire in the fireplace and lit candles, as I absorb the energy of this new year. The snake has molted and is ready to gallop with energy, clarity, and courage. 1966 was the last Fire Horse Year, and that was a powerful one too.
My grandson is at Tahoe with his family and a very perky puppy. It’s been snowing and is beautiful. I look at the photos and feel what it’s like to play with this new texture, to immerse as in water, to form flakes to come together as snowmen and snowwomen, and toss snowballs with glee. I remember my childhood, and all the years and give thanks for how water is liquid, solid, and gas, able to change like perception.
Morning in Sausalito
Respite
This morning at Stinson Beach.
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