Healing What Ails Us and Coming Together: Politics and Other Forbidden Subjects by Caryn MacGrandle

I met my best friend growing up in Third Grade.  I moved around the country after high school, but regardless, her and I have managed to stay in touch.  I spoke with her last weekend and asked about her parents.  Even though its been years since I’ve seen them, I remember them as if it were yesterday. Going out to their cabin at Lake Texoma. Seeing them around the house. 

You see Kim and I were tight.  We saw each other pretty much daily for years.  In some ways it was a much more innocent time.  I remember summers leaving the house in the morning and not going back until sunset, muddy and barefoot.  Crawdads and horse models.  Playgrounds and baseball games.  

But in some ways, it was a much less innocent time. We dabbled in quite a lot that we should not have as the term helicopter parent was unheard of.  Our skies were wide open.  The good and the bad. The large majority of us were latch key kids, and we raised ourselves.  No apps to tell our parents where we were or check in. We went as the wind blew us.

I only really remember one big contention between Kim and I. In middle school, a history teacher gave us a project on our party affiliation.  I still see her and my packet of school-ruled paper and cut out magazines in my mind. 

My parents were Republicans.  Her’s were Democrat. 

I remember feeling anger towards her for this. 

But I have no idea why.  I just remember feeling a sense of indignation on how she could be so stupid to have chosen wrongly.  I was so sure that I was right.

Fast forward forty years.

Our country finds itself at a dangerous crossroads.  People cannot even discuss politics.  Most of polite society is just pretending to ignore what is going on.  Because it is horrifying.

Anger. Division. Indignation. Shootings.  Violence. Rage.

Let those words sink in.

That is what the media is filled with.  I did not even know about the Trump shooting for two days because on weekends, I turn off my electronics for my mental wellbeing.

In the mornings, I peruse through Facebook.  In its beginning, I found connection and inspiration through it. 

Nowadays, it is advertising for my app.  A requirement like the rest of social media, but not a fun one.  I get in.  I get out.  Like a war zone.  I try my best to keep my ‘vibe’ high.’

Local drama. Someone posting about how she is no longer welcome at a Pagan establishment in town. Those that are with her.  I have been saddened by just how much in-fighting and drama I have seen. 

My 25 year old son comes over on Saturday.  Through him and a part time job at a convenience store that I used to have, I hear what is going on with a large percentage of his generation. Addiction. Crystal meth. Alcoholism. Cocaine. Poverty. No way to get ahead. Either a workaholic or an alcoholic. Choose one.

A little voice in my head during morning meditation announces:

The antidote to addiction is community.

Community.

And community means ‘allowing’.  Even if you do not like them.  Even if you do not share their perspective. 

Community is creating a container to come together despite your differences.

I have some ideas.  But it will involve going down unknown roads. 

It is one thing to invite the Sacred Feminine into a safe container full of welcoming women.

It is quite another to bring Her into the dying vestiges of Patriarchy.

But that is where She is desperately needed.

Ideas?

“Each of us has a part to play in toning down the violence, beginning with our own minds, our own words, our own actions.
With every thought of love and act of forgiveness, every word of tenderness and act of mercy, we help to purify the air of the toxic tensions that now beset our country. Let’s be devoted to peaceful thought and action, to being better people so we can help our country get past this dark and dangerous hour.”

Marianne Williamson