Trauma-Giving and the Great Delusion

My social media feed has blown up in the last few days with all sorts of anti-Thanksgiving, anti -holiday,  anti-white colonialism, trauma triggering, day of grief and every other thing in between.  Yeah, it’s a terrible capitalist funnel of a holiday based on a the bunch of lies written into a colonizer’s mythology that  perpetuated some really horrible things against humanity…  hundreds  of years later, millions of lives exploited and lands ravaged we still press on and argue about this  fictional event that tries to create an air of humanity and cooperation that never really existed. 

At the time of this so called feast the story speaks of  coming together to honor the shared hope of cooperation. In reality the early years of people  coming to this country was pretty dire.  Disease. Death. Starvation. Lack of resources to know how navigate the climate and environment. Couldn’t  leave. Fear. Lots of fear.  God really wasn’t helping them much. This isn’t an excuse for  colonization it does point to the fact that people do desperate  things to survive… And like most historical story telling of  events of this sort, it is more about a moral teaching ( they were Christians). The written history of the event was probably made up to give  some lightness  to the  terrible condition of living  at that time and like lies do this myth rolled forward  like a drunken snowball and crushed truth until it crashed into reality and fell apart.

So fast forward and this National Holiday is now a poster child for everything we can hate and fight about as this country tries to find its way and identity…. again….

My feelings on this are if it’s really that horrible let’s stop doing it. I’m  all for simple affective action.

Of course nothing is simple when it comes to human beings. Humans hate change even if it is for a good reason. We seem to fight tooth and nail for traditions we know are exploiting , racist  and such. All in the name of “identity”  Some people can’t think it through or the media poisons reason with fear. Power and politics get involved… and from there it rolls into the dark crevasses  of stupidity and violence.

Then there is the years and years of trauma that need to be reconciled and acknowledged. The perpetrators need to be vilified. Reparations need to be made. Reconciliation  will take years and many generations to heal…  It needs to be done. It will take awhile with a lot of being real and dropping the denial.

Let’s  start some place…. like realizing  we are  not  the story we have been told. We are not the history that has defined us.  We can start today and use it to make a better/different world for everyone.  We each have the capacity to make changes that are part of solutions no matter how great or small they are

Be kind. Be grateful. Nothing is guaranteed for anyone. We can spend our time beating up the choices of the past or being traumatized  by the consequences that are fouling the future. The other way is to live each moment in service to making the changes needed for a better world.

Today with climate changes, population, depleted resources etc…. the road ahead is paved with migration and the diaspora of people to new places for resources and survival. If the past serves as a lesson then we can figure out how to do it differently… creating a real story of hope, cooperation and humanitarianism.

Happy Reconciliation in Action Day. May we all be graced.

Entering the Dark

Up here now in New Hampshire the day ends at 5pm. With a darkness that lengthens the night and puts frost on everything when the Sun returns at dawn. The leaves have fallen except for the oak and beech trees.  The dry yellow grasses and weeds are dressed in tiny crystals of of frozen water that melt with the warmth and light.

All these familiar New England things are the gate keepers to the long nights and wintery days. The air fills with the scent of snow and the mountains  in the notch are covered in whitness. Rime ice forms with the wind on tree branches….  The world drops into a monochromatic slumber of plans for the Spring. Archaic dreams that seep up from the subconscious and haunt the idleness on cold nights. The mind wrestling with regrets  and unfinished novels to be written.

Or…. the renewed passion to start projects and finish that pile of books on the night stand. Wrapped in woolen fabrics that insulate the chill while sipping warm beverages. Cloistered in the cozy places with a view framing the day light passing.

We enter the dark. The deep long shadows of a Sun passing far south on it’s annual journey. The incremental  ticking of time in ratios of light and dark. That alter the cadences of our minds and slows our bodies. Slipping into the in-between that ceremonially has been the place where seeds of ideas are fed the fears of inaction and uncertainty along with inflated potentials to become something…. anything…. in an effort to keep faith in the returning Sun and not be devoured by the night.


The howl is deafening. These winds of change barrel over The dried river beds. Raising dust on fields and blotting out the Sun. No rains come. The particles settle again waiting for the next gust. This dust becomes the equalizer. Everything is covered with it. Everything is colored by it. Browns and orchres. Turning gray with the grime and oils from cities. Dulling the colors of humanity. The poor wash their clothes and the rich play in paradise. Governments argue budgets and timelines…. Earth creaks and stretches. These winds of change blow.