“The Earth is a sacred artifact that resonates with life. We may see the Earth as being ill, but the Earth is a vital and superior organism. The sickness we see in the World is a reflection of the sickness we feel in ourselves.”
On the morning of our second day, we get up and take a rowboat out onto Mirror Lake. We row into a cove where we sit in silence and watch as the wind blows across the water and the ripples bend along the edges of water lilies. A Common Loon dives and resurfaces, sits for a moment or two, and dives once again. The forest reaches down to the shore, where there are reeds and grasses. There is deadfall interspersed, and tall conifers living out their final years towering above the canopy. There are no human voices. No sounds other than the wind and the water lapping against the side of our boat.
We spend the second day hiking through the extensive portions of old growth, which is like hiking through a fairy tale. This may seem overly romantic, or just silly, but it is true. There is a reason that the deep, dark woods is a recurring theme in the fables and tales we’ve passed down from generation to generation. There is mystery in the play of light and shadow.
There was a powerful windstorm some years ago, and the gnarled roots from the upturned trees at times seem poised to reach out and grab you, twist across your ankles and pull you down with the worms and the crawly things. In the night, I understand why the forest was also once a place of fear. In the night, without a moon or fire, the darkness is complete. You can hear the forest alive all around you, but there are no names for the beings dwelling there save those conjured by the imagination. And the wolves.
We spend our second evening in a cabin by Greenstone Falls. As the day falls, slowly, the light changes every two minutes, so you look up and the landscape has shifted all around you. But you haven’t gone anywhere, you haven’t moved from this spot where you’ve sat hunched and distracted by some new mushroom, some strange phenomenon of moss and fern, or the way the light plays against the trunk of a tree.
Walking up a hill behind the cabin to gather firewood, I am momentarily startled by what I imagine to be a black bear with his tan muzzle staring out at me from beside a tangle of fallen branches. We had seen one crossing the road on the way in, and the visitors’ log in our cabin indicated that the previous occupant had enjoyed the privilege of one looking through the windows and wandering around the camp the morning before.
My wife and I sit for an hour beside a shallow pool lined with smooth stones as the day slowly wanes. We are amazed by the dragonflies, who are astounding acrobats, and apparently ruthless carnivores (as one landed before us two days later clutching and devouring a butterfly half its size). They zip up and down, patrolling the length of the stream, investigating wood tangles and fallen logs. A few dive-bomb the pool, splashing down and sending out small ripples across our tiny pond. We are amazed by this behavior, and search for explanations. Are they drinking? Are they eating water bugs? Later, after a little research – Were they laying eggs? The mystery persists.
A cluster of hemlock branches extend over the water, and we notice a small green inchworm, what may have been a Hemlock Loooper, descending along a line of silk, only to stop in midair when it becomes apparent he is set to disembark in the middle of the stream. Left dangling, our Looper pauses. Life is ultimately about choices, it seems, and this fellow has made a bad one. However, success and determination go hand in hand, so over the next half-half hour we provide commentary, encouragement, and wait with baited breath as he slowly reels in his line and ascends back from where he came.
At one point, a dragonfly appears and hovers directly beside the helpless larva and seems to consider whether he’d be a worthwhile snack. Fortunately for the Looper, the dragonfly departs, and we sit until he finally hoists himself back onto the needled branches and disappears.
The light dims, and the mosquitoes are on us once again.
The truth about snowflakes is not as they would have you believe. Yes, there is the ideal, perfect little snowflake fluttering down slowly from the sky; the baby in the arms; the child that must be protected from any harm; the emotionally fragile liberal that cries bully when someone is just being an asshole, or can’t understand how someone could vote for Donald Trump.
Well, I’m calling bullshit, because I know a thing or two about snowflakes.
Snowflakes, which are endlessly diverse, though remarkably similar, are formed through adversity. High in the atmosphere, water coalesces and freezes upon a mote of dust, a grain of pollen, volcanic ash, silt blown from the Sahara and carried across the sea.
A microclimate forms around the snowflake. Minute variations in temperature, wind speed, humidity, and countless other details affect the forming of the snow crystal as it’s buffeted and blown about in this harsh environment.
The truth about snowflakes is that they change, they meld and coalesce, they reinvent themselves to suit the time, the temperature, and the pressure that they’re under.
Shortly after snow hits the ground, almost immediately, it begins to go through the first of many metamorphoses. The crystalline branches, if that’s the type of snow that was falling, begin to fold, pressed inward as more of their kin pile upon one another. And as more snow falls, as the snowflakes’ original forms shift, the spaces between them diminish. The snowflakes are pressed closer. The fluffy, airy spaces between them contract, points of contact solidify and harden. This process continues throughout the winter through freeze and thaw and as more snow falls. Over time, the snowflakes come together to form a continuous, insulating blanket.
Below the snowpack there is a space that forms called the subnivean zone. This is an area of warmer air between the breathing ground, which radiates heat, and the harsh environment above. The subnivean zone is an area where the smaller critters, more vulnerable to cold and predation, can seek refuge. There are trails that form, entire highways below the snow that are well worn and traveled. There is food, and warmth, and safe passage for those that need it.
When there are fewer snowflakes and no unified snowpack, it is the vulnerable that suffer.
And snowflakes are not passive. They can move with tremendous speed and incredible force. Once loosened, an avalanche can reach speeds of 80mph within 5 seconds.
And as this fuming cascade of snowflakes, unified in their singular purpose, goes rushing downhill, they become a single irrefutable event burying and smothering all opposition until it asphyxiates.
So, make no mistake — this is the truth about snowflakes.
there is a difference between believing in social justice and being committed to social justice.
Is Conservatism inherently racist? My hunch is that the conservative movement prioritizes and perpetuates racism and racist institutions. The conservative stance on liberty, family values, and ideological consistency are rooted in normative systems of institutional power. In the United States, at least, this power is synonymous with whiteness. Cultural, social, and religious norms are largely white hegemonies.
That’s too limited – power in the United States is predominantly white, male, and heterosexual.
So there’s that.
Another question is whether there can be reconciliation between conservative and progressive values? Can the adherents of these two world views and approaches towards life and governance reconcile themselves so that we can regain some semblance of something other than complete disfunction?
It’s a matter of both reconciliation and rehabilitation. The ideological adherents need to find some way to reconcile their differences, whereas the system itself is in need of rehabilitation.
I believe that one of the ways this happens is by engaging with individuals, groups, and organizations within our communities. The challenge, though, is finding the time to make the time and then sustaining some level of engagement long term.
One thing is for certain –
We cannot allow ourselves to retreat from public life. Democracy is an aspiration, not a given.
I am writing to ask for your help.
When my wife was 8 years old, she developed Type 1 Diabetes, an unpreventable autoimmune disease that currently has no cure. When a person has Type 1 Diabetes, their pancreas does not produce insulin, a hormone necessary for the absorption of sugar into the cells. A Type 1 Diabetic must then regulate their own blood sugar through monitoring and injections of insulin to stay alive.
Several years ago, my wife lost her insurance. Due to her pre-existing condition, she was not able to regain coverage. Her test strips, insulin, and syringes, which are all extremely expensive, had to be purchased out of pocket. Visits to the doctor were rare. A trip to the emergency room due to complications would have been financially devastating.
Without insurance, my wife’s management of her disease suffered. Seizures due to low blood sugar, or insulin shock, became more common. They typically occurred in the middle of the night, and I would have to feed her honey or glucose until she recovered. Her body’s reaction to the seizure would then lead to days of excessive highs and lows which, if left unchecked, would have eventually lead to more serious problems, or an early death.
However, because of the Affordable Care Act, my wife was able to get insurance that covered her medical needs. She now has an insulin pump, which has made a tremendous impact on her ability to manage the disease and her long-term health. Her test strips are covered, so she can test her blood sugar more often and maintain better control. She can now regularly visit an endocrinologist to help with overall management, and she can get yearly eye exams to monitor and treat any onset of diabetic retinopathy.
Because of the Affordable Care Act, she has what she needs to stay healthy longer. There are still highs and lows, but there have been no more seizures or trips to the emergency room.
I know the Affordable Care Act is far from perfect. It needs a lot of work. I have no illusions about this. However, this law that so many people love to despise has helped my family. It has improved the quality and long-term health of my wife and best friend. And now, it is under threat of repeal.
I am asking you to take the time today and call your representatives and senators and tell them to Fix the Affordable Care Act, Not Dismantle It. Tell them to make it better so that everyone can receive the care they require, especially those who are vulnerable and in need. Tell them to fix the ACA so that it can work for every American without hurting those who need it most.
Tell your representatives to:
You can follow up with:
Protect Pre-Existing Conditions
(Lack of coverage for individuals with a pre-existing condition is potentially devastating, literally resulting in lower life-expectancy i.e. death)
(So that Americans can change jobs without losing coverage)
No High-Risk Pools
(So that the sick and vulnerable are not relegated to prohibitively expensive plans with limited coverage)
You can also follow up with:
No continuous coverage requirement
(So that any lapse in health care does not undermine access to future coverage)
No vouchers or block grants
(Replacing Medicare with vouchers may not be adequate and are an uncertain and potentially dangerous gamble that would most likely impact the elderly and poor)
Doing some reading.
Came across the “Corner Stone” Speech given by Alexander H. Stephens in Savannah, Georgia on March 21, 1961. Alexander Stephens was the vice president of the Confederacy throughout the Civil War. In this speech, he lays out a number of differences between the “new constitution” of the Confederacy and the old constitution of the Union. These differences were improvements, “great improvements” in fact.
Working through the speech, Stephens finally cuts to the chase and puts the question of African slavery to rest once and for all.
And this is where things start to get nuts. Unless you are Richard Spencer. Or David Bannon. Or, I’d venture, Jeff Sessions.
The old constitution, in Stephens’ opinion, was composed by the “leading statesmen” of the time who saw slavery as a “violation of the laws of nature.” Jefferson, he states, I’m assuming Thomas, predicted that slavery would be the “rock upon which the old Union would split,” and in this, Stevens admits, Thomas Jefferson was right. BUT, the reason Jefferson got it right was wrong, fundamentally so. It was wrong because it rested upon the assumption of “equality of the races.”
The new government, Stephens states, is founded upon the exactly opposite idea, the idea that “the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition.” Furthermore, that the new government is “the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.”
And H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T he’s just getting started.
You know those crybaby liberal fanatcs in the North with their whacked out ideas about equality? Yeah, they were just that, fanatics…crazy people! They were suffering, the poor souls, from “an aberration of the mind from a defect in reasoning. It is (the fanatic) a species of insanity.” And this insanity, or one of the distinctions of this insanity, was forming conclusions deemed correct with “fancied or erroneous premises.” Erroneous premise numero uno being that “the negro is equal,” and “entitled to equal privileges and rights with the white man.”
Science says so, basically. And basic logic says so too, since any conclusion drawn from an incorrect or illogical premise is likewise incorrect. So there.
And he seemed, at least in this speech, to be pretty confident in “the ultimate success of a full recognition of this principle throughout the civilized and enlightened world.” People will eventually come around to white supremacy, he says, in the same way that folks eventually came around to Galileo, Adam Smith, and some guy named Harvey.
To Stevens, this stuff was gospel, and he preaches – bringing God, Nature, Providence, the whole crew into it. Not only does science support the subjugation of the African slave and bolster one of the central tenants of their new constitution, but this shit’s in line with the laws of nature. Anyone who thinks otherwise, or any system that deems otherwise, is in violation to these laws of nature. Period.
And you know why, in case you were wondering, in case you’re still not convinced, it’s because God said so. That’s right, God. All this he says, is “in conformity with the ordinance of the Creator.” Ordinances, apparently, that we are not to question or inquire into. Humanity is thus served by accepting God’s law on the matter and founding all principles and institutions on said law. Period to that too.
By this point I’m just exhausted by the whole thing. He keeps going on about subjugation this, eternal principles that, and being true to ourselves, triumphing over all those nonbelievers, etc., etc, yadda, yadda. Oh yeah, and the Curse of Canaan, which apparently translates into some guy saw his father or somebody’s father naked and somebody got cursed and the later generations, Canaanites, are all slaves because they deserve it.
And we all know how the story ends. There was that business with Plessy, and Jim Crow, but then there was Brown, so the good guys win, and nobody thinks like that anymore.
Nobody with power or influence anyways.
Unless you happen to be the head of the National Policy Institute.
Sheezus, the mind reels, and I can’t even go there right now. But, it seems that, in some circles, not a lot has changed since 1851.
I would like to extend an apology to all slime molds to whom I may have given offense with my acerbic and insensitive comparison to Steve Bannon. This was wrong. And I am sorry.
Slime molds deserve to be recognized for their service, their beauty, and their strangeness, all of which are characteristics completely lacking in the caricature of man(un)kind that is Steve Bannon.
Without slime molds and their kin, the world as we know it would cease to function. The dead would cease to decay, and the refuse of centuries would accumulate. We’d be up to our ears in dead varmints and old fruits and vegetables. Our soil would be barren, the diversity of life would come undone.
To this end, slime molds have nothing in common with Banno.
Bannon and his kin are unnatural. They are refuse. Death that refuses to decay. All wrapped up as the alt-right or white nationalists, they portend to have a righteous claim to legitimacy. Wrong. They are Twinkies that refuse to rot, empty calories eschewed by decomposers more sensible, that would rather consume shit. Life springs again from shit. Not Twinkies.
Slime molds know better.
Steven Bannon and the alt-right he empowers are nothing more than reconstituted tribalists fueled by vicious memes and internet anonymity, peddling tripe disguised as intellectual discourse.
I’ll admit, I know little about slime molds. I actually thought they were are a type of fungi, which I know a little something about, but apparently they’re not. They’re something different entirely. Something strange and unique.
And so maybe this is the point I’m looking for – the world thrives on diversity, on the strange and peculiar. The rich system of bacteria, mycorrhizae, and countless invertebrates is the life of soil. Otherwise it is dead, useless. Nothing will grow, nothing will thrive.
Any fight against diversity is a fight against nature. And nature will always win. Bannon and the alt-right think they are winning. They are wrong.
Oh sigh – to bring this lowly slime mold into my once pristine blog-o-space. I apologize to the slime mold. The slime mold has an important, critical place in the ebb and flow of time and decay. The slime mold does a nice job for nice reasons.
Steve Bannon, as far as I can tell, is a big ball of excrement. I imagine his presence similar to the ball of feces rolled around by the dung beetle, but large. Much, much larger. For example, if you took Veruca Salt when she blew up into a big purple ball, but then transferred that big purple ball of Veruca Salt as a big ball of poo right smack into the middle of my living room, stinking like all hell, and doing nothing worth anything other than mucking up the place, making a godawful mess and attracting diseases, that’d be Steve Bannon. In my opinion. Sorry Veruca, but I needed something for scale.
Steve Bannon snuggles up to the alt-right, which means that he empowers white supremacists and pseudo-fascists, justifies their atavistic ideologies and provides an outlet to hate speech and vile dispositions. That’s enough for me. I think he also devours kittens. I mean, why not? I’ve done enough research on him that I can’t find any reason to think otherwise.
What will emerge from this vile, stinking ball of poo that is being ushered into the White House by the pucker faced tangerine that we’ve (who us?!? not me!) elected to run this big constipated mass of dysfunction, only time will tell. Only time will tell, but if we’re going to hire racists and fascists to tear down the Washington elite that we, apparently, so abhor, I can only imagine the festering larva that will emerge from this shit show.