"Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring." (Ivan Karamazov to his brother Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Doestoevsky)
Devil's Backbone Park, Washington County, MD
Spring came early this year, before the coronavirus hit the U.S. in full force. Temperatures were mild all winter and the mid-Atlantic didn't get more than a dusting or two of snow. And then at the end of February, the daffodils that we wouldn't normally see until close to the middle of March began budding, and the spring peepers began peeping in the creek across the street. It was wonderful, those two harbingers got me just as excited as usual. But there was an undercurrent to it, a feeling that it wasn't right. They were too early, which, combined with the mild winter, seemed to signify all too obviously that Greta Thunberg ain't kiddin' around, folks, and we need to begin listening to the scientists and our governments need to start getting regulatory. And yet, instead we have Icky Trump rolling back every regulation he can to reverse the small amount of environmental good that's been done over the last half-century. But now it's April and there are still daffodils in bloom, and tulips and redbud trees are beginning to burst forth, and sticky little leaves are opening up on the trees. And the coronavirus is ramping up its death toll and has forced business closures that are crippling the U.S. economy. And while some folks are holed up at home in self-quarantine, others are getting out to take what socially-distant pleasure they can from the early-arriving, long-lasting spring. I'm of the latter group (don't yell at me). Aside from work during the week and brunch and movies on the weekends, my life has been one of social distance on a regular basis for many years. But now I'm furloughed from work and waiting to find out when unemployment payments will kick in and, while I can't do brunch or movies, I can still get out and drive. It's either that or stay home binge-watching Father Brown and obsessing over where the hell to buy some toilet paper. A Facebook conversation this morning had me missing my favorite Waffle House, the one off of I-70 near Hagerstown, MD, where a couple of the ladies on the staff have memorized my usual order of steak and eggs, sunny-side up, hashbrowns smothered, diced, and capped, and sweet tea. Waffle House, for those paying attention, has become a barometer for the severity of the coronavirus pandemic, according to the "Waffle House Index" that FEMA uses to gauge disaster severity. The company has become a model of not only 24/7/365 service, but emergency response. Between getting their restaurants up and running on generator power after hurricanes and tornadoes, and rolling out their Waffle House food trucks to provide food for affected communities, they've fed a lot of hungry people who might not have had much in the way of options after a disaster. But the coronavirus pandemic is one disaster even Waffle House wasn't prepared for. They've closed over 400 of their 2,000-something locations, which puts that FEMA index in the red. Usually the Hagerstown location is bustling when I walk in. I'm usually able to snag a single empty seat at the high bar, while larger groups of people have to wait for a table. Watching the staff behind the counter is like watching a raucous ballet, as the servers and expediters dance behind the cooks at the grill and waffle presses, pushing trays of dishes through the washer behind the high bar, slinging plates of hashbrowns to the tables with graceful efficiency while calling out hellos to every person who walks in the door. Today the place was empty with a capital EMP-TY. I called in my order from the parking lot and sat waiting until Miss Linda came out to give me my packed and bagged waffle and hashbrowns and take my credit card. She invited me to come inside to sign the receipt, and it was a sad, lonely sight-- Plastic covering over all the high bar stools, and only Miss Linda taking orders and one cook dishing them up. I asked her to tell all the other staff I would normally see there that I said "Hi" and she said she would, and that I'd see them all again soon, because this wasn't going to last forever and "We'll be back, better than ever!" Her optimism reminded me of an interview with musician William Tyler that I'd read this morning in which he was asked if he had any words of hope to share during these troubled times. He did, in the form of a quote from former POW, Admiral James Stockdale-- “Never lose faith in the end of the story.’”
I agree with him that that's a powerful mantra to hold onto. If only I didn't drive past so many Trump signs on the lawns of folks out in the more rural areas of Maryland...
I've been trying to write this post for months. I started it in the aftermath of the white supremacist march in Charlottesville and Trump's comments about that event, and have re-started it a handful of times since then. There's almost too much to say, there's too much opportunity for digression and maybe the main point hasn't been firm enough in my mind. This introduction is a digression in itself. But after having a bit of an existential crisis this weekend that probably made some of my friends think I was going off the deep end, I'm giving it another go.
This post is not about Donald Trump. If you want to read about him, you've got your choice of hundreds of articles in a multitude of media sources, not to mention his own shit-show of a Twitter feed. I'm not going to waste my words on him. No, this post is a reaction to Donald Trump and the effect he's had on many of our psyches. Or at least on my own psyche. Because I don't know about you, but I've been so much angrier than usual for the last year and a half. A fair amount has been written about "TrumpFatigueSyndrome" (each of those three words links to a different article) and I believe the stress of it is real.
Image from the Augusta Chronicle, via the Denver Post
Added to the regular stresses of things like work, commuting, paying bills, dealing with our own health issues and those of family members, and, in my case, a hereditary irascibility, TFS ain't no joke. It's something to take seriously. Because it can turn you into someone you don't want to be, someone who is angry all of the time, and/or depressed all of the time, and/or who withdraws into avoidance. It can lead to combativeness. It can lead to cynicism. But the anger and frustration in response to what's happening these days is justified. And anger can be productive. Professional athletes talk about using anger to push themselves, to give them an edge over their competitors. But is that wise in day-to-day interactions, or in the realm of politics? When you have a bunch of people voicing their anger together, in a crowd or on social media, it begins to breed the sort of negativity that can so easily turn to exactly what we're seeing too much of in the world these days-- combativeness. We have so much to battle against these days-- Racism, classism, and other bigotries, a patriarchy that feels it's under threat, and all the effects of living in a kakistocracy that embraces willful ignorance. But do we want to battle effectively, or do we want to live in a combat zone? It's important to choose how anger is channeled, because there's a distinct difference between rage and outrage.
Rage is ugly, it's destructive, it breeds hatred and, when impotent, turns into cynicism. But outrage says "No, this is wrong. This must change". Rage accomplishes nothing. It amplifies and destroys and leaves a metaphorical scorched earth in its wake. Outrage, on the other hand, can be the impetus for productive action, for activism and the sort of destruction that leads to positive change.
In the week following Charlottesville, one of the most helpful things I came across were these words from Van Jones in an interview at NPR-- "People say, 'Oh Van, when you go out there and talk to those Trump people, does it change any of their minds?' That's not my job. I'm not trying to convince Trump people to be better people. I'm trying to prevent the Trump era from making me a worse person. I do not want to become somebody who is so hard-hearted that I can only see the worst in my opponent. Dr. King said you should never let a man drive you so low as to hate him." That's it, right there. We can give vent to rage and hatred for the people we view as our opponents in this situation that more and more is coming to feel like a war. Or we can be outraged and battle for change without losing sight of our own moral compass. For anyone feeling the way I've been feeling, I highly recommend learning more about Van Jones and the Love Army.
Another thing that helped me was a bit unexpected and I've been meaning to get back to it after the initial discovery. Way back in May 2017, I joined the hosts of the Third Men podcast to talk about the use of Masonic references in the Raconteurs song, Intimate Secretary, which was released back in 2006. I'd seen mention of those references at one of the Jack White message boards, but for the podcast discussion I did some actual research and what I found was both compelling and startlingly timely. Here are the lyrics, along with some of my notes about the words and possible meanings-- I've got a rabbit, it likes to hop I've got a girl and she likes to shop The other foot looks like it won't drop [things won’t be so bad after all] I had an uncle and he got shot [oops, maybe they will]
Is this greeting the type that's meant for me? [Masonic ceremonial hand-shake &/or greeting] Are you part of this kakistocracy? [government by the least qualified]
This ringing in my ears won't stop [stress and fatigue from shit show going on in the world today] I've got a red Japanese tea-pot I've got a pen but I lost the top I've got so many things you haven't got [but do they really amount to anything?]
A fellow's craft is just not for sharing He's not an intimate secretary! [he's not qualified to be one, doesn’t understand principles of reason, love, faith, duty, etc]
I've got a rabbit it likes to hop I've got a girl and she likes to shop The other foot looks like it won't drop I had an uncle but he got shot
Venerable obscurist malarkey [general stereotypical perception of Masonry as hallowed mysterious bullshit?] A doulocracy ecclesiarchy [government of slaves defining heresy?] A fellow's craft is just not for sharing He's not an intimate secretary!
The exarchy's inspector inquisitor I dare mock an illustrious master Are you part of this kakistocracy? Is this greeting the type that's meant for me? [do I have the qualities of an Intimate Secretary?] What I knew: Jack's apparently got a deep connection to the Masonic Temple in Detroit-- He attended Cass Technical High School right down the street, his mother worked there as an usher, and the Gold Dollar and Magic Stick venues are only a few blocks away. He's performed in both theaters in the Temple, and paid off their back taxes a few years ago. Wouldn't surprise me at all if his father or other family members were/are Masons. And so Intimate Secretary is laced with references to titles of various degrees of study in Masonry-- Fellowcraft ("a fellow's craft"), Intimate Secretary (obviously), Inspector Inquisitor, and Illustrious Master.
What I learned: The pages and pages I read the on the internet were like reliving my 20s and early 30s, when I was deep into philosophy and classic literature, devouring writings by and about Thoreau and the Transcendentalists, Goethe, Kant, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and the Stoics. The beliefs of the Freemasons are built on the same sort of weird mix of transcendentalism, esoterica, and reason. But underneath the mystery and esoterica, under the stuff that's bred so many jokes and conspiracy theories, lie a framework of symbols and allegories with the specific purpose of developing a spiritual and moral compass.
Whether you take the mysteries surrounding the organization seriously or consider it a bunch of Illuminati hoo-ha, their message is one this world needs right now. The degree of Intimate Secretary, in particular, is strikingly relevant. A few pertinent excerpts from the description of it at the Freemason Information website--
You are especially taught in this Degree to be zealous and faithful; to
be disinterested [as in, minding your own business] and benevolent; and to act the peace-maker, in case of
dissensions, disputes, and quarrels among the brethren...
The
generous man cannot but regret to see dissensions and disputes among
his brethren. Only the base and ungenerous delight in discord. It is the
poorest occupation of humanity to labor to make men think worse of each
other, as the press, and too commonly the pulpit, changing places with
the hustings and the tribune, do. The duty of the Mason is to endeavor
to make man think better of his neighbor; to quiet, instead of
aggravating difficulties; to bring together those who are severed or
estranged; to keep friends from becoming foes, and to persuade foes to
become friends. To do this, he must needs control his own passions, and
be not rash and hasty, nor swift to take offence, nor easy to be
angered.
For
anger is a professed enemy to counsel. It is a direct storm, in which
no man can be heard to speak or call from without; for if you counsel
gently, you are disregarded; if you urge it and be vehement, you provoke
it more. It is neither manly nor ingenuous. It makes marriage to be a
necessary and unavoidable trouble; friendships and societies and
familiarities, to be intolerable. It multiplies the evils of
drunkenness, and makes the levities of wine to run into madness. It
makes innocent jesting to be the beginning of tragedies. It terns
friendship into hatred; it makes a man lose himself, and his reason and
his argument, in disputation. It turns the desires of knowledge into an
itch of wrangling. It adds insolency to power. It turns justice into
cruelty, and judgment into oppression. It changes discipline into
tediousness and hatred of liberal institution. It makes a prosperous man
to be envied, and the unfortunate to be unpitied.
See,
therefore, that first controlling your own temper, and governing your
own passions, you fit yourself to keep peace and harmony among other
men, and especially the brethren. Above all remember that Masonry is the
realm of peace, and that “among Masons there must be no dissension, but
only that noble emulation, which can best work and best agree.”
Wherever there is strife and hatred among the brethren, there is no
Masonry; for Masonry is Peace, and Brotherly Love, and Concord.
Icky Trump is definitely not an Intimate Secretary. (If you agree, maybe go buy a t-shirt to show your feelings?) Finally, a Facebook friend posted this quote a while back that really resonated with me--
Found via Pinterest, I'd credit the image creator if I could.
I think I'm going to print that and tape it to my bathroom mirror. And I'm also going to bookmark a few pages of Masonic texts and refer to them frequently, when I need to bolster my own character and get back on track. Like Van Jones, I don't want feelings of rage over what's happening to bring me down to the level of Trump and his ilk.
Like many other people, I've been to a few protests recently. A Maryland Rally to Save Healthcare. The Women's March on Washington. An impromptu No DAPL rally near the White House one night last week after work. And yesterday, a No Muslim Ban/No Wall rally that turned into a march. It feels good to be doing something in the face of all the frightening changes that've so quickly taken place in this country. But I keep wondering if it's enough. There were two other events I considered going to yesterday, instead of or in addition to the No Ban/No Wall rally-- One was a rally earlier in the day to protest Betsy DeVos' nomination for Education Secretary, the other a protest of the Muslim Ban at BWI airport in the evening. If I'd gotten myself out of the house early enough, I could've easily gone to the DeVos rally near the Capitol and then headed to the White House for the No Ban/No Wall protest. And I could've probably made it up to the airport near Baltimore afterward for that one. But I chose one of the three. Was it enough?
I keep thinking of a post I saw at the Facebook page for the Betsy DeVos protest. Someone had said that they couldn't go because they had to take their kids to a soccer game, but they'd be there in spirit. This is what I worry about-- The Tea Party faction brought us to this point because of the passionate intensity of their beliefs. Yet we, the "liberal" opposition, pick and choose between protests, or support from afar because we have soccer games to go to. I can easily imagine Tea Party moms skipping their kids' soccer games in a heartbeat and dragging those kids to anti-abortion protests instead. Do we believe passionately enough to do the same?
And the causes we're protesting represent real people who've been, or soon could be, making sacrifices and even suffering because of these issues. Do we feel strongly enough for them to sufferourselves?
I don't say this to shame anyone who's skipped a protest because of work or whatever. I'm struggling with it myself. This is all so new, it's been confusing and a bit overwhelming to figure out how best to respond, how to take action and feel that it'll be effective. I keep telling myself I'm taking baby steps. But I do wonder at what point we're all going to have to begin making real sacrifices, giving up those soccer games or taking time off from work, putting in the hours and becoming tired and worn out, in order to protect what we feel is right.
#IckyTrump Images from the Women's March on Washingon here.
I watched the movie Cabaret over the weekend, which I think may be the first time I've seen it since, oh, high school or so. Joel Grey's Master of Ceremonies was as creepily fantastic as ever. I'm better able now to appreciate Liza's insane talent and quirky beauty. And, well, I've never not appreciated a young Michael York. Fosse did a stupendous job and it's as effective a film as it ever was.
I found myself thinking about it this morning, though, as I pulled a towel out of the linen closet and glanced at my shelf full of bottles of nail polish-- Reds ranging from crimson to ruby to almost-black maroon, silver and gunmetal grey, baby blue, cobalt blue, midnight blue with sparkles, copper, and a deep green that echos Sally Bowles' signature shade. It was her signature because it was, in her mind and in that era, "shocking", a bit of "divine decadence". The bisexuality of the film was also shocking, in that era and also still in the one when the film was released. The scenes in the cabaret had a degree of shocking titillation to them. But none of those things are shocking anymore. Non-hetero sexualities are still controversial, but rarely hidden anymore. Burlesque and cabaret shows are hip entertainment these days. And, well, there's my shelf full of nail polish. Is there anything from the film Cabaret that can still shock us? That's a leading question, and I hope you get it.
All images and text herein (excepting song lyrics, quoted material, and otherwise attributed images) are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. Feel free to use my words or photos, but please link back to the post from which you pulled them. Like anyone else, I find it gratifying to be acknowledged for my work. Thank you.
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