When the writing's BOLD on the wall

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Really don't see why this reality 'crisis' over Theresa May is so surprising. After all those years at the Home Office -- draconian immigration rules, rushed bills denied proper scrutiny time, "cat" and other inaccurate, untrue accusations, "go home" vans, *attitude* towards Human Rights Act (an important cornerstone of what can be seen as UK's "written" constitution based on values of the older unwritten one), invisibility even absence when major issues arose (inc Brexit ref) -- the writing was bold on the walls.

May's management style so far has appeared more self-preservation than innovative, letting others take the flack. Still, the buck does stop at the top. #nowheretorunnowheretohide 

Though history also shows *rulers* who have built self-protection defences, put others in the firing line (literally and not) and still claimed success (from the jaws of defeat). 

In all that, it is still we the citizens, people, voters who must live with any and all consequences. Communication systems now allow us to widen our knowledge, to check, to discern, to realise our own truths. To decide. To engage or not. And how to. To choose.

If we do look to history, even that of the last 100 years, we can see the patterns, the human foibles, the psychology used by leaders, of them and between us. We can also recognise we are equipped emotionally and intellectually with capacity to make sense of these within ourselves and the wider reality. In 2016, surely our human existence has progressed enough, we are equipped enough, to discern and deliberate a choice -- for integrity and honest behaviour. 

Perhaps the current pace of growth and life has done us a disfavour by reducing our capacity to slow down for reflection, to discern. That may be where we need to re-establish some equilibrium. 

I hope our instincts lead us to choose Life that has room for all living beings and things, that nourishes and nurtures our abilities and individual beauty; that recognises we all have a part to play in holding up our 'sky', in any one moment in time. That if any part is left, let down or fails, it diminishes us all and weakens the structure of our existence. Seems to me, the challenge is to find how to hold up that 'sky' while Time marches on unperturbed by our human dilemmas. 

We can not turn back Time. We can learn from our past, our decisions and actions: accept them because we lived through them, allowing them (even in disenfranchisement) to happen. But recognising we have a choice in how to move forward. 

Even if it is merely by a conviction just to hold up our individual bit of Sky, as a living, respectful, sentient being.

Too early to feel resigned, surely

I did say it and have done for a while.
It's our turn now - just can't be denied.

We're at the top of the ladder. Next in line.
Every week, perhaps every day, there'll be a passing,
a departure
that stirs our memory, shakes us to the core, reminding
us of our mortality, its brief tenure.

There are no words. Surely it's too early to feel resigned.
It might just be quiet silence, a gentle nod
to say see you on the other side.

Take it easy, Glen Frey.

http://eagles.com/news/266763

The curtain falls
I take my bow
That's how it's meant to be
It's your world now.

(Frey-Tempchin, from Long Road Out of Eden)

Sway to the music

Listening to Ziggy play his guitar.

You never think of mortality when you grow up with people and events. Life in the moment is always more important. Perhaps we just don't want to think that far ahead.

Sure enough, it is not that far after all.

I remember an elderly aunt saying how all she did in the later years was read the obits. It sounded pretty morbid to me, in my youthful ignorance/arrogance. But I stored the knowledge, even in the dreading of the day I'd be doing the same.

The day's arrived. And I won't seek out the obits -- they'll come to me, media being the way it is in the 21st century. From now on, there will be days like these, almost everyday.

Not quite like December 8, 1980. The (other) day that the music died. That was pure disbelief, "tragic to be taken so young, so unexpectedly."

Or the day a 14 year old school friend died, from skateboarding on her neighbourhood pavement.

Henceforth, there'll be sadness that is poignant, self-reflective, foreboding too. Who'll be next? Him. Her. Me?


Too sad to be *sad* this day.
Let's sway
Sway through the crowd to an empty space....