For much of this past year, I lurked, but did not post.
There's been a lot to worry about and a lot to celebrate.
What are they? Look below the orange twirly-thing:
This is what I celebrate:
1. We're not yet dead.
2. The planet is still beautiful in many places.
3. I have a nice home, clothes, good food. I have a loving family, good friends, and a seven-month old Standard Poodle whom we all adore and deplore at different times.
4. I have a job that, comparatively speaking, is pretty good.
5. I have words.
This is what I worry about:
1. Those craters in Siberia.
2. Climate Change.
3. Wars all over the world.
4. Children dying in Gaza.
5. Children trying to gain entry into the US, and being treated as the Other.
6. Children being abused.
7. Bees and birds dying off.
9. Lack of water.
10. Lack of respect for life.
I feel helpless when I read about mysterious methane-excavated craters. I worry. Then, I shrug. I cannot do anything about something that's already happened.
Yet, I can do the things I already do: Grow vegetables, plant flowers, try and conserve energy, sign petitions, and give money to whatever causes I believe in, which help the planet and which help democracy.
And what do I do when I worry about Climate Change? See above.
And what about the children? I weep when I read about children dying, and families dying through no fault of their own. I feel helpless. All I can do is to sign petitions.
I weep when I read about horrible racist incidents. What do I do? See above.
I try and plant more flowers and vegetables for birds and bees in my neighborhood. That is deeply soothing.
I am really worried about water, but haven't really had to worry in the part of the world where I am. I like, love, water. It will be hard when drought comes, for come it will.
And, frequently, I write stories or poems. Here's Overthrow:
Overthrow--A Sombre Vision
©August 5th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Gaea was angry, and her rage had built up to incandescent levels, lighting up the skies, pouring out through fissures, terrifying her children.
Too long, too much wrong had been done unto her.
Deep down, deeper than the human mind can follow, in the sombre shades of Tartaros, lived the monsters, the forgotten children of Gaea, who waited patiently, calmly.
They knew their turn would come. It was only a matter of Time. It is the way of the Cosmos. One gets overthrown by another, then, another, and another until the end of creation. After this, it would begin again, but in what form, nobody could know.
A crater blew up far, far away, where the Titans and Cyclopes lived in the deep, deep cold of a frost beyond human ken. Then, another, and another.
Things melted. Plumes of invisible spirits arose into the air, vengeful spirits all, locking arms, high above the world.
The Titans and their children were now the Gods of the Air, triumphant and savage after having been chained within for so many billennia.
And the Children of the Earth, puny humans, proud and heedless for so long, looked up and trembled.
Their time had come.
Note: What made me write this piece? I've been reading too many accounts of the horrible methane craters being discovered in Siberia. I've also been reading Greek Mythology to (and with) my daughter, who has been devouring them voraciously. (I remember being the same way at that age!)
7:23 PM PT: I am amazed. Just made it to the Rec. List. Thank you all!