This Freedom Thing . . .

Dear you,

Today is Veteran’s Day.  Thank you, Veterans, for fighting tyranny and defending beloved ideals.  XO to our warriors, here or gone.  My Dad was a warrior. He earned a bronze star in World War II.  He is gone but kind of hanging around, commenting on my behavior.  At least in my head.  I am glad he hasn't been literally around to experience the Trump reign; it would have broken his good Republican heart.  But in many ways, I wish he was here now to feel what I have been calling the exhilaration of . . . clarity.  No more fairy tales.  No more scripted happy endings.  Case in point, our transition of power to President Elect, Joe Biden and Vice President Elect, Kamala Harris.  Donald is doing his best obstruction dance, but he just cannot bother me because I have learned to let go of other people’s stories, especially his.  This isn’t nihilism or postmodern erasure of all meanings I am talking about.  It is simply and finally getting it, this freedom thing.  Listen, please, to the narrator of Salman Rushdie’s The Ground Beneath Her Feet; he and Rushdie can say it straight:

“What if the whole deal – orientation, knowing where you are, and so on – what if it’s all a scam?  What if all of it – home, kinship, the whole enchilada – is just the biggest, most truly global, and centuries-oldest piece of brainwashing?  Suppose that it’s only when you dare to let go that your real life begins?  When you’re whirling free of the mother ship, when you cut your ropes, slip your chain, step off the map, go absent without leave, scram, vamoose, whatever; suppose that it’s then, and only then, that you’re actually free to act!  To lead the life nobody tells you how to live, or when, or why. In which nobody orders you to go forth and die for them, or for god, or comes to get you because you broke one of the rules, or because you’re one of those people who are, for reasons which unfortunately you can’t be given, simply not allowed.  Suppose you’ve got to go through the feeling of being lost, into chaos and beyond; you’ve got to accept the loneliness, the wild panic of losing your moorings, the vertiginous terror of the horizon spinning round and round and round like the edge of a coin tossed in the air . . . But just imagine you did it.  You stepped off the edge of the earth, or through the fatal waterfall, and there it was:  the magic valley at the end of the universe, the blessed kingdom of the air.  Great music everywhere.  You breathe the music, in and out, it’s your element now.  It feels better than “belonging” in your lungs.”

This is how I feel.  It feels good.  Others are not feeling so good.  Millions who believed Donald would help them slip their chains are feeling lost. Perhaps it is disorienting to discover the other half of the human race isn't interested in your version of "America". Orientation is always illusory. The smooth transition and happy ending are too. If these others were listening, I would say this:

"Step off the edge of Earth 2 with me and free-fall back to the unscripted spin of Earth 1.  Enjoy the wild panic of losing your moorings, and put not your trust in princes. I can’t say it’s going to be okay.  I can’t say it’s going to blow either. I can say that whatever this exhilaration is I am feeling now, it feels better than “belonging”.  It feels like free-fall freedom. Enjoy!"

My Dad would appreciate that suggestion.

Thanks for this freedom-thing, Dad.

Love,

Joyce