Spring and the Moon of Liberation (1% waning crescent)
Thursday gratefuls: Tara. Breakfast burritos. Shadow and Eleanor, buddies. Blood draws. Down the hill. Snow. Costa Rica.
Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rich
Kavannah: Simcha. Joy. I have such joy with my friends at CBE.
Tarot: paused
One brief shining: In the phlebotomist’s chair. Again. Five vials. A slight push. Jazmin had found my vein. Whoa. She’s good. Efficient, too. Swap in one vial. My body fills it. Out. Another. Less than five minutes.
A working woman with delicate hands. She performs a frequent task with no fuss.
Jazmin.
Compare Jazmin’s careful, accurate insertion of the needle with, say, Trump’s depiction of himself as Jesus. Ham-fisted. Coarse. At the very least, rude. At worst, outright blasphemy.
Facing down, in a cowardly-lion way, the Pope. Who is the Pope? How many legions does he have? He cannot lecture me about war and violence. I have a Nobel Peace Prize. See? Right there.
JD Vance, he of the pliable values, instructs the Pope to be more careful when speaking about theology—to a man who has risen to the highest office in the Roman Catholic Church, who leads a nation of theologians.
Where are the Jazmins of the political world? Is there no one who will relieve us of these troublesome men? Who can identify the tasks before us, address them with care and confidence, and deliver policies that make our nation better—stronger?
They have yet to emerge. It may be that the route to the presidency weeds out politics’ Jazmins, ensuring that the thoughtful, the compassionate, and the competent fall away while the venal, the corrupt, and the cruel survive.
And yet history offers exceptions.
Obama, I believe, was one such man. His values were clear, his compassion evident, though his skills proved insufficient to overcome the forces arrayed against him. That is the nub of it.
A combination of humane vision and the political mastery of Lyndon Johnson is vanishingly rare.
When I consider history, I know such leaders have existed: the martyr Lincoln, the stalwart Washington, the canny Roosevelt. Perhaps the times make the person. Only in moments of rupture do we find those with the courage to heal a broken nation.
My sense, though, is that such people always exist, unnoticed by history. When peace and plenty prevail, effective leadership remains within reach. Many can—and do—lead. The demand for extraordinary vision lies dormant.
But then come the crucibles: the American Revolution. The Civil War. World War II. Nation-shaking events. Even our survival as a republic at risk.
It is, right now, such a time.
Our President, enabled by sycophants and toadies, lurches from boasting of a Nobel Peace Prize to extinguishing a civilization—glad-handing enemies while stiff-arming allies.
I do not know where they are or who they are, but it is past time for the Jazmins to show up—to ply their trade with skill and aplomb.
Eyes closed.
Hands in lap.
Wait.
.
