But, I Didn't Pinkie Swear

How much of what we experience do we have a right to share?  Or to put it another way–

 I’ll keep your secret.  Unless it’s funny.  Or profound.  Or quirky.  Or sad.  If the personal revelation you share calls forth any of those aforementioned emotions?  Well, then, sooner or later, you’ll probably see a twisted version of the tale in something I write.

For me, this creates the biggest challenge when it concerns one particular person in my life.  See this person is funny and profound and quirky and, sometimes, sad.  And he has been very clear that he does not want me to ever use anything he’s said in anything I write.  Which, because I love and respect him, I agree to do.  But, I’m here to tell you, it just about kills me.  Just yesterday he made the funniest observation I’ve heard in years.

Which I’m not going to share with you.

Do you think God will give me extra credit for keeping this confidence?  You writers out there, how do you handle it when a person with whom you share an experience is adamant about not wanting those insights or feelings shared on the written page? 

Fourth of July

I got thinking about just what we’re supposed to be celebrating on the Fourth of July.  The signing of the Declaration of Independence.  An illegal protest against taxation without representation. 

History’s a bitch, ain’t she?

I wondered how many of the grand thinkers and philosophers who came up with the bright idea of taking a stand for that particular cause actually fought for its implementation.  Turns out about half.  Fifty-six men signed the Declaration.  Seventeen fought in the American Revolution.  Five were captured.  Eleven more had their homes confiscated.

The reason this all came to mind is that, as we submerge deeper and deeper into the increasingly muddy waters of another presidential election year, I am more and more irritated by those who wave flags.  On both sides of the aisle.

  There are all kinds of ways to be patriotic.  And shoring up a fallacious argument by jumping over the cerebral cortex and coming directly from the amygdala is a time honored way to appeal to voters.  I get that.

So, I don’t mind someone wrapping themselves in the bloody flag to make a political point.  Except it maddens me when the blood on that flag is not their own. It pisses me off when the blood of warriors is called upon to justify what is simply a point of view and, not content to end the farce there, anyone with an opposing opinion is demonized as an ingrate not worthy of sacrifices of real patriots.

Our country is split down the middle with little common ground upon which to build compromise. 
Here’s what I think. 
If we want to honor those who fight in wars our government sends them to fight, let us stop behaving like selfish children.  Let’s reach out to one another, work to hear each other’s words, and find a way to allow the country we profess to love to grow and to find, again, a righteous path to greatness.
http://pamelafosterspeakerwriter.wordpress.com/

A Confused Sea

A small boat in a rough sea.  I identify, lately, with that image.

For five years I fell off the side of a panga boat into the Caribbean Sea on a daily basis.  Winds from the east flattened the waves and we skimmed over turquoise glass on our way to the dive site.  West winds ruffled the water and made for a choppy ride.  A storm blowing in from the south or north created ripples or mountains depending on the wind speed.

The local boat captains navigated all of this.  As long as the panga motor could outrun the waves before they swamped the low back of the boat on the way into shore, the captains powered out through the watery mountains and we fell backwards off the boat and sunk below the surface chaos.

Well, yes, there were those occasions on returning home when we leaped over the side the instant the panga cleared the opening of the cove and drug the boat to shore hoping to outrun a threatening wave.  There was even one memorable time when the waves caught us and the boat sunk in plain sight of the dive shop and the sunbathers on the beach.

But, for the most part, as long as the wind was consistent, the little boat bobbed on the rough seas and was waiting to bring us home at the end of our dive.

In a confused sea, the wind can’t make up its mind what direction it wants to blow. Waves kick up from all directions with the occasional rogue to make the boat captain’s life even more interesting.  A confused sea left a boatload of disappointed divers standing on shore cussing the weather while a Mayan boat captain shook his head no and no and hell no.

So, in this time of my life, when nothing seems constant, I remind myself that the weather will change.  But mostly, I remember dropping down through roaring waves into a world of such contrasting peace it always put a smile on my face big enough to leak salt water in around my regulator. 

Peace is here.  I just have to fall backwards into it.

Blackbirds and Death

Light explodes the dark

Blossoms of red, white, and blue

Blackbirds fall from skies

Red wings in black night

Freedom stolen, cold, hard death

Join hands, stay alert

Once again, while fireworks celebrated the remembrance of freedom, redwing blackbirds have fallen from the night skies.

Odd that only the explosions over NW Arkansas have this effect on birds.  Makes me suspicious that, for our own good no doubt, someone is hiding the truth.

Makes me consider the possibility that the liars are the same people who insist on the necessity for the new law enabling the government to pick up and hold any one of us, indefinitely, on suspicion of supporting terrorism.

Not proof of being a terrorist, but suspicion of supporting terrorism.

In my mind the image of those plummeting blackbirds is superimposed over the picture of protestors hunkered down while a uniformed protector of our freedom sprays pepper spray directly into their faces. I keep seeing Japanese rounded up for internment camps, Indians marched on trails marked with death and sorrow.

Without the freedom to fly, what will we become?

Is no one else frightened that we’re falling into a cold world of darkness and death? 

Is it time we joined hands and figured out a way to get past our differences?