Tidal surges and Mandela wisdom

DATELINE: November 29, 2020, from Lady Proverbs, somewhere on the Oregon coast

The similes of the sea are just friggin’ everywhere around me these days, as the sand-sitter I now am. There’s all kinds of things you can come up with around being optimistic, e.g., you never know what the tide will bring in (aka, Castaway); there are low tides and high tides, e.g., bad times and good (aka, everyone’s mother); there’s always the calm after the storm, the hope that tomorrow will be a better day, e.g., Scarlet’s weak shit after she trashed her whole family and her slaves.

It can sometimes make me feel like I’m just an old gal looking for the next simile to roll in on the tide. That in the Days of COVID this meta-world that we live in isn’t fully real. It’s like a no-man’s land waiting area at an airport where the country you’re leaving has the reliability of North Korea in deciding if it will really let you go; and the country you’re trying to enter isn’t quite sure it’s ready for you, with all of your baggage, so to speak. I used to live in Africa, so I’ve been in a few of those no-man’s zones. It’s a scary fucking place.

And yet, do we have any other choice but to try our darnedest to think that something better is on the way? I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from being pissed off, frustrated, scared, nervous, and several other states of mind and body from The Virus, political shenanigans, grief and medical crap. So admittedly, I’ve been getting an assist from Lady Proverb’s little helpers, edibles from our conveniently located green-cross store. And chocolate, of course. Some might use wine, but not my cup of tea. I want to work stuff out when I imbibe, get over the hump of sadness, worry, regret, confusion, not get drunk. So I get a little a push. Sorry if that offends some, but I don’t really care about what others think.

I don’t have kids or grandkids. I don’t report to anyone. My Dad is dead and my Mom doesn’t know who she is any more. The husband imbibed himself back in the day. But as someone focused on surviving cancer, he uses his Spinoza scholarship to focus his mind and energy, to be his inspiration, to figure out the Big Questions. Imbibing is not in the picture for him anymore. But he’s cool with my assists.

I worry about some friends who are in a dark place because of the actions and projectiles of our incompetent, outgoing president. That’s not a wrong reaction. But it can hurt your soul so much it pollutes your life, your relationships, a tsunami of putrid shit overtaking your world. Nelson Mandela, after 27 years of prison for being Black and wanting to be treated like a human, forgave his captors without pause. He said that if he didn’t, the poison of hatred would continue to harm him, make him sick. But forgiveness is the antidote to the poison, releasing it from your mind and body and letting you live again. No, you don’t forget. But you do forgive.

There are some really great things happening out there. Just try to mine one of them. If that’s as far as you can go, just hold on to that one thing. Shine it up every day, put it in your pocket, and touch if when you feel real low; so low that you’re frozen in place and you kind of black out.

We need all of you all. The tidal surge won’t drown you if you just ride it out; let it take you where it wants until it lets go and you can swim back to shore. You’ll be so tired, just like you are now, maybe worse. But beautiful sand and shells and hope are on the shore.

And you never know what the tide will bring in.

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