February 15, 2006
Deflated blue balloon
I have it all inside me -- schadenfreude, sadistic glee at another's misfortune. There's something very wrong. I'm more than satisfied , nay, I am tickled pink , that Vice President Cheney shot someone. In fact, I'm thrilled that the shooting and the coverup is so straight forward that the American public can finally understand that there might be something wrong in the top echelon of our government Actually a shooting accident, and the fishy attempts to COVER IT UP (!?!) seem quite a bit worse than having oral sex with a gum snapping dittybop, and trying to cover it up. I want to prick Cheney''s arrogance, his self satisfaction, his belief that he is above the law, the Geneva Accord, the Constitution --above human decency. I'm actually celebrating someone's demise (we shoud be so lucky), and that makes me just like him. YUCK.
As I like to say to those who listen to me -occasionally - holding onto resentment is like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die. I cannot seem to learn that lesson for myself. I want those whom I perceive as my enemies, my nemeses, my poppets to suffer -- make that, suffer in humiliation and disgrace. And that's exactly what's wrong with the world -- Israel, Palestine, Northern Ireland, Darfur, the war on terror (whoever they may be)-- More importantly it's what's wrong with me.
In Scott Simon's book about Sarajevo "Pretty Birds" a Bosnian patriot responds to a young woman who says how much she detests war that everyone agrees that war is a terrible thing, a waste, an evil. But she goes on to ask what would have happened if England had turned the other cheek and surrendered to Hitler, like the French, preserving its cities, but succumbing to darkness.
Hating the perpetrator is surrendering to the dark energy Torturing the perpetrator is becoming a perpetrator oneself. But how does one set limits on those who have run amok, without getting caught up in the cycle of hatred?
I know from the satisfaction I feel each time a neoconservative scheme blows up, an indictment is handed down, a humiliation possible, that I am filled with that horrible combination of hatred, rage and glee. I guess I am fortunate to have a government that allows me to see that part of myself, so I can begin to work on it.
I am so far from what Jesus, Mohammed and Nelson Mandala would do, that I hardly have the decency to be ashamied yet. Get well soon Harry.
Give a dog a bone, as they say.
Photo note: A punctured mylar balloon tied to a pipe behind the party store, reflected on a white wall. That's it.
Posted by Dakota at February 15, 2006 06:27 AM