Writing and health

This past week I did not post to this blog. I have been feeling terrible about everything going on in the USA. The nation is tearing itself apart from the inside. It feels as though there had been a large wound on its chest that had been covered with cheap gauze. Someone cruel has ripped that gauze off and left it to bleed.

I love all of the country. Its contradictions, natural beauty and spirit. Everyone is here and we get to talk things over and resolve things. Unfortunately, there are people who want to destroy this place where they live.

Why destroy your own home? Maybe they don’t feel like this is their home. I once felt like that, but I couldn’t destroy my home. I knew that I would have to fix it the next day.

Well, I couldn’t blog. I felt inadequate to speak on the situation because of its great magnitude. There are candidates running for office that want to discard its foundations. The election will decide whether we stay together. I feel dead inside because I know that people no longer trust the people who are there for them. I feel dead inside because I know that my voice means nothing because of the color of my skin.

But without writing, I cannot live. I can’t breathe. I was taken into custody once and was struggling in tear gas in the back seat of a police car because of my political beliefs. And I still loved the country. Crazy? Yep. They were supposed to respect my rights to choose my own political party, I thought. They said that I was resisting arrest without violence. So, why would defenders of the peace choose violence on someone who simply does not want to go with them? They misinterpreted what I was saying and sprayed me with tear gas. I will never forget that night. Maybe someday somebody will say, “you know that was wrong what happened to you. I am sorry. Let me make it up to you.” That would be a start.

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