There are a few things I need to fill you in on.

First, I am not free from fear. I am terrified.

Second, I am not free from anger. I am furious.

And third, I am not free from greed. No, I am furious and terrified that I will never see a penny from Social Security even though at age 68 I have applied. There’s a slowdown over there. A slowdown and a cutback and a massacre. The thing is, for the first time in my life I could really use the help. I’m scared that I will never benefit from Medicare even though I finally need it. Scared that my savings will evaporate in an economic collapse, and that my country won’t survive another month or the world another year, and scared about that, and that, and that.

Fear leads to hate, so naturally and unavoidably I hate Donald Trump. I hate Elon Musk. I hate every Republican who ever voted for Donald and certainly those who are silently watching, or not watching, or stupidly cheering what’s going on right now. I’m sorry  if that includes you, but you should be sorry too. I’m tempted to blame all those people for my fear and anger, but the truth is, those feelings are mine. The worry, terror, sadness, and anger: those are all mine. I have stockpiles of them sitting around my house now. Hardly room for anything else.

A while ago when this was all becoming apparent, I began to wonder how much rot Trump, Musk, Vance and their minions carry around inside of themselves. What soulless void makes them despise and destroy people and things for no reason except their own enjoyment? To get their own autocratic kicks? What care and respect were denied them so that they, in turn, have no moral center or self-respect? What kind of love did they want and never get? What kind of lack ensured that they would never be half-decent, honest, fair-minded, or whole? And why are they so wantonly, grievously unsatisfied?

In a way, I already know, and I know why they won’t stop. Because power magnifies fear. Wealth accelerates greed. Nothing they have, nothing they do, and nothing they get will ever be enough to fill the bottomless breach in their very being. They are broken, and so they are breaking everyone and everything else.

The other day I was talking to someone I don’t know very well but am friendly with. She’s older than me, and ill. She looked tired and I asked if she was sleeping at night. She said yes, and asked the same of me. I said no. Why not, she asked. Because I am terrified. You, terrified? Of course I am.

So many people are being hurt. So many lives are being destroyed, I can hardly bear it.  But I could tell she didn’t get it. Why would someone like me, someone like her, care?

We live on different planets.

You’re very compassionate, she said, finally. Perhaps it was a way to gloss over our differences.

Not compassionate enough, I thought. Not nearly enough. But it’s a start, and it’s all I have to work with right now.

I am angry, so very angry. I am sorry, so very sorry. I weep for you and for all of us whose pain unites us. I am reaching out to you, reaching out to you until the end. Hold my hand.

***

If it sounds like I need to meditate, I do. If you do too, look here, where there’s space for you.

Photo by Zoe on Unsplash