“Walk out of any doorway
Feel your way, feel your way
Like the day before.
Maybe you’ll find direction
around some corner
where it’s been waiting to meet you”
Yes, I have another “Box of Rain” earworm – the song was from Phil Lesh to his dying father (music by Lesh, lyrics by Robert Hunter), and it’s easily my favorite Grateful Dead song. So, with many things on my mind after a very busy week that included some fairly significant decisions, and very little progress on my NaNoWriMo project, I thought it would be a good time to share it again.
So, to ring in your weekend, hopefully with happy thoughts, here it is…
The snow photo, taken last winter from my deck, is in acknowledgement of the cold front that has moved in, and the snow flurries that we had this morning (and the wet snow earlier this week). It’s going to be a long, cold, winter, I fear.
“As heirs to a legacy more than two centuries old, it is understandable why present-day Americans would take their own democracy for granted. A president freely chosen from a wide-open field of two men every four years; a Congress with a 99% incumbency rate; a Supreme Court comprised of nine politically appointed judges whose only oversight is the icy scythe of Death — all these reveal a system fully capable of maintaining itself. But our perfect democracy, which neither needs nor particularly wants voters, is a rarity. It is important to remember there still exist other forms of government in the world today, and that dozens of foreign countries still long for a democracy such as ours to be imposed on them.”
— Jon Stewart, “America (The Book): A Citizen’s Guide to Democracy Inaction”
Yes, I know off-cycle elections aren’t very exciting for most of us, but keeping abreast of local politics, and participating, is actually the only way to understand what’s gone wrong at the state and national levels.
So, if you are eligible to vote, and have an election happening in your area – please get out there and VOTE!
With no time today for commentary on several things that need commentary, I instead found myself thinking of this quote from Elie Weisel:
“We must not see any person as an abstraction. Instead, we must see in every person a universe with its own secrets, with its own treasures, with its own sources of anguish, and with some measure of triumph.”
Something we should try to keep in mind more often.
In the ‘I’m definitely overextended’ state that I seem to be running lately, I have (overdue) work to finish up for my volunteer job, I’m 3 days late starting NaNo for this year, and of course, I have normal weekend things to do, and blog posts to write, but somehow it all seems to be okay. And it will, somehow, all get done by the end of the weekend – even if my NaNo start is a few thousand words short…
But, first comes the reminder to pause to just breathe…
“The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.”
― Thích Nhất Hạnh
Photo looking northwest from the Walkway over the Hudson November 4, 2015
“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!”
— Bram Stoker, Dracula
And a bit of music to set the proper mood – Saint-Saen’s Danse Macbre performed by the National Philharmonic Orchestra:
Haunted House picture from wallpapers-for-desktop-background.blogspot.com by way of Pinterest.
Repost from October 28, 2016 in honor of the Statue of Liberty’s dedication 131 years ago yesterday. Mother of Exiles, indeed.
On October 28, 1886, the Statue of Liberty was dedicated in New York Harbor. Originally known as Liberty Enlightening the World, the massive statue was a gift from France to the United States. The poem by Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, enshrined on a plaque at the base was written to express Lazarus’ sympathy for the refugees from anti-Semitic pogroms in eastern Europe, after she had initially declined to dedicate a work to statue as a part of a fundraising effort. The plaque containing the poem was installed in 1903.
A reminder of Lazarus’ poem seems appropriate given the current global refugee crisis, and the reluctance of many now – as then – to take the refugees in.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Image from Wikipedia