I consider myself someone who never leaves anything unsaid. In fact, often, there’s a little voice in my head saying, “Okay, you can stop talking now … or now … or maybe now would be a good time to stop talking … please.”
Yet, I suddenly find myself with a shortage of words about where we are in the world today. My radio dramas, even the on-air conversations that ‘awaken, inspire and activate’ have stopped. I don’t know how to do those things anymore. I’m past the point of meaningful conversation into WTF is going on??
Just this morning, I saw a post on Facebook about – what else? – conflicting viewpoints about America’s politics. I realized in that instant that we are living in parallel universes, so tragically disconnected. Otherwise, how is it possible that we see things so differently? Even more so, how is it possible that we attack each other and our physical personas when our political views differ? “Put her in a dog cage and send her to Russia” or “If you still support him, you are all ignorant assholes.” There is even the one that I cite in my upcoming book, In the Souls Waiting Room, of someone calling Trump a “tangerine-tinted, trashcan fire”
We are nothing if not clever. Sometimes, expressing our disdain with the wit of a Noel Coward or an Oscar Wilde – brava/bravo, by the way; yet, often, expressing our disdain as if we were raised in a gutter.
There was one other comment that struck me, and even though I’m not a religious person; deeply spiritual, yes, I had to stop and ponder.
Here is the quote:
“When I read comments sometimes, I am speechless and would love to ask people, what would Jesus say about your comments?”
Truth be told, we don’t care what Jesus would say, even those who claim to live in his image. Living in the age of WTF, we’ve moved past Jesus; we’ve moved past any connection to a gentle, compassionate human who taught love for all beings, except those money-lenders. He didn’t much care for them, did he? Some of us still pine for Barack Obama’s so very human, approachable presidency. “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” And some would argue that those 8 years were their very personal living hell.
We are not at a loss for words. We are at a loss for meaningful words. We’ve forgotten how to talk to each other in a way that connects us and moves us and heals us. The divide grows wider, deeper, like a ripe peach that splits until the heart; the pit, is revealed. We usually throw those away, don’t we? Who wants to eat that one?
There is a shortage of meaningful words, just as there is a shortage of clean water, clean air, housing and food. No, they are all still there. Someone is hoarding them, buying them all up and feeding them to the starving masses a little bit at a time, keeping us hungry, thirsty and home-less. Keeping us needing them, whoever them is.
There is a shortage of meaningful words, just as there is a shortage of compassion and action for our children around the world, the environment and all sentient beings that are caught up in the profit-machine we’ve created.
What started as an exploration of my own shortage of words suddenly feels global. What more can I say? How loud can I get? Even more so, “Is anybody there? Does anybody care? Does anybody see what I see?”
Instead, I withdraw into my silence. Feeling deeply this shortage of words that might be mistaken for apathy or inaction. There’s a little voice in my head saying, “Okay, you can start talking now … or now … or maybe now would be a good time to start talking … please.”
 http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2016/11/05/here_s_everything_samantha_bee_has_called_ donald_trump.html
 Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi, 1970
 From the Broadway musical 1776, Is Anybody There?