A dangerous wish

I love America. Its people, its cultures, its history. I love questioning its people, its cultures, its history, its beliefs. I dig into it, knowing that I will find at the root of it goodness. I am not afraid to question the reasoning of a perfect God. It does not make me afraid to ask why, as long as I have the patience and fortitude to know that my lack of understanding will not be His fault. So therefore I am not afraid to dig into the depth of what makes this country what it is. Seeing the discordant and disinterested population I felt as if this country was failing politically because the people could not be brought to believe in the government for any purpose. There was no unity, not together we stand strong attitude about any policy or move. America was divided and weak, unwilling to spring to any form of action. I felt as if we could just be united in some movement, even a mediocre thing, that we could begin to rebuild the pride of this country. That is where I was willing to fight for evil.

I had written, this I freely admit, in praise and support for Obama. I also wrote that if Hillary Clinton were elected president I would not fight her policies and make this country weak. Instead, I vowed to stand behind her movement, to work with her. If she moved to make health care better for the people then I would fight for that. I'm hurt by this realiziation now. I would be an agent for evil. I would be on the supporting side of health care? I know that my attitude would change but I am somewhat horrified that I would play a part in todays great evil. Apathetic, mindless, following. We do it because it seems right, because the world wants it. Who can fight for climate change? Then let's support green peace. Ok, (what are they doing.... well If A is bad than B must be good..... how can I question out loud, won't that put me into the same category as someone who fights for climate change....don;t question, don't fight, don't cause friction. Just put your shoulder to the back of the wagon and push, your face so pushed against the great movement you are helping so you don't see the world around. Bury your face in the work, shield your eyes from the work, act with one purpose, that purpose being the great mass of the movement.) Ok is the answer, the thoughts buried deep within. Amanda wrote, "I cannot imagine anyone thinking when they are young, when I grow up I want to spend my time, effort, and money avoiding responsibility. How did our society get to this point? Through misguided ideals?" (I didn't think that was too personal to share to my one blog reader, me)

My mom would say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I always thought that meant good intentions, but never anything done about it. But good intentions with blind actions are just as bad. Our end goal is making the road, but along the way we make excuses to not pave it correctly, not fix that pot hole, and mostly overlook and allow bad work to happen around us. What we end up with is not what we wanted. I have to fight to make sure the things I want happen, even if me and someone else have the same end goal in mind, something as sweeping as education or health care reform needs supporters, but not the mindless kind.

Strong, not impervious

Built like houses, every reality would hit their roofs and slant off falling into the mud that had become their reality. Mixed with doubts and deep feelings of inadequacies, the mud was safe, and truth could hide in it’s murkiness. Neither the brilliance of their character, or the darkness of their failures could be clearly seen in the bromide. She, however, stood on the roof top. Strength had been defined as being able, not to withstand the world, but to avoid it. Push it away and down the road. Troubles and hardships became future battles and problems for another day. When life reared its sometimes ugly head and they raised their shields, she would step forward, and raise her fists. On the roof of life, drops of moments would fall to her, and opening her palms skyward she would catch the moments, and let them sink into her hair, skin, and clothing. Life was a part of her, she did not barricade herself from it, protecting herself and hiding. She was strong now, not impervious.
He pictured her as a Joan of Arc, or a womanly Alexander the Great. Charging ahead, acknowledging the arrows of the danger of acting in glory, accepting their danger. By being more vulnerable she was stronger than those who would only run into battle after seeing that one could survive it. Seeing her on horseback, she took the reins in her mouth, holding one sword high and the other outstretched towards the sky. I am strong, I am powerful, I will not settle for less, I am.
“She is cold,” Instead is what they whispered. He smiled as she tucked her feet under the couch cushions. Her feet were the only cold part of her body, because it was far from the great generator of her energy and beauty, her heart. He knew there was more warmth and truth in her then they could ever know. More intelligence than they can see through their squinted eyes, lids blocking what they were afraid to see. Her placid posture accented her dominion over the world around her. When conversations danced tepidly, trying to find meaning or display intelligence or humor, she was mapping, commenting and notating on the whole of it. They went from sentence to sentence, she stretched from eternal principle to eternal purpose.

Why I love Grant Hill

http://thequad.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/16/grant-hills-response-to-jalen-rose/?ref=todayspaper

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704132204576190260787805984.html