Lying down as it’s dark
once more to dream. I could tell you the pieces and I might, but the most important thing was that someone there asked me What I Really Want, and I answered:

Sanctuary

The main piece is about the trailer and about the beauty of having that sanctuary anywhere.

Also a small one about the imagery of sage/woman/book/wisdom and a kind of zen/tao spiritual practice.

***

Then comes the morning and the insight that Exporting democracy, freedom, whatever to the rest of the world is a cover story and a pretty sick joke.

You cheer the curtailing of freedoms in the name of fighting misinformation, in the name of fighting terrorism, again, whatever it is, and take your shoes off meekly at the airport.

You accept the rigged primaries and the swapping out of the candidate with no due process.

You try to tell me that this about Joy, when all I can see are acres of devastation and charred bodies.

It was never about exporting freedom and democracy.

It was always about extraction and importation of wealth back to the Hive.

You bought into it all mainly because they shaved you off a tiny sliver of that wealth, if you behaved yourself, and thus financed your lovely standard of living.

Our national saga is a story about colonialism and imperialism and manifest destiny and being the unipolar top dog because it’s the right thing, the free thing, the best thing. The Greatest country.

Lies. For the papering-over of a vast Mafia enterprise. This Thing Of Ours.

Real happy for you and all, but I want nothing to do with it–as little as possible, anyway.

I want sanctuary … from it.

I prefer splendid isolation … to it.

Yes, even in spite of the very real ironies abiding in the double negatives.

***

The first father’s philosophy was one of selfishness taken to psychotic extremes. The second’s amounts to: Get your button. Become Made. Rise up the ranks of The Organization by doing what you’re told to do–following–until you get to the place where you’re doing the telling. “Leadership”.

Collect more slivers, of the rotten pie.

The baseline difference between us is this.

You hear Anarchy and think: Chaos!

I say Anarchy and mean: Sanctuary.

Am I starting to get a handle on the question that obsesses me, the nature of what other people, including you Think, and Why?

It feels like a handle, to my fingers, but proving what a Handle is … It’s hard to say.

Working so hard to prove it, I start to see, might in the end be nothing but a distraction, and I begin, finally, to regard the whole enterprise, spilling included, as a fool’s errand.

I wonder what could be next.