Tea Party 1

Gathered around a table at a local restaurant are seated several aging baby boomers. They're all white heterosexual males. They've never experienced the hurtful alienation of racism. They've never been ostracized or victimized for being homosexual. They've never eaten out of a dumpster or slept beneath a highway overpass. They've never experienced the all-consuming obsession of substance abuse and addiction. They've never had to make the decision between a necessary medical procedure or rent. They've never been to prison. They've never made minimum wage. They've never experienced tragedy due to the use of a firearm.

Perhaps they have. Secretly, they may keep truths of themselves closely guarded subjects. They may be willing to take things to the grave, to live under the incredible burden of shame. They don't understand how to deal with their guilt and, consequentially, lash out in the form of watching others suffer and to perpetuate such. They are morally corrupt for they know not how to cope with their true identity.

Perhaps they're just ignorant as shit.

In any case, they're on their way to a local meeting to discuss the current status of the nation. For years they've harbored resentments towards others. Prejudices flow through them like the blood in their veins. Their ideas are not their own but have been forced unto them, by an abusive parent or a herd of fellow spiritual indigents. They are bereft of compassion, except for those cut from their cloth.

After securing several coffees and pastries, they pile into a vehicle and make way down the county route to the meeting being held at the local fire hall. Their seatbelts are buckled, for safety purposes, and the person operating the vehicle takes notice of posted speed limits and other signage. They signal when making turns. The radio is employed during the trip for some pleasant background noise. The singer/songwriter on that radio station is playing a hit. He learned how to play music from a public school music teacher. His 7th grade english teacher introduced him to Shakespeare and set the course for his love of poetry and performance.

The fire hall is at capacity with others, who benefit from the compassion of those alike. They've all gathered to express mutual disdain for the way things are. Perception is the way things are in this place, as in every human place everywhere. The crowd is nearly homogenous, peppered occasionally by the supportive or curious spouse. The result of the nights' discussion is met with thunderous unanimty. All return home in their domestically manufactured vehicles on the various state and county routes. Their homes are well lit and warm.

It's very beautiful country, theirs is. It's gently rolling hills and sultry meadows are filled, year round, with agriculture processes or left to the processes of nature. It once belonged to another people and will be left to another different group of people. Still, people will inhabit their lands and will inherit those lands in the condition it's left to them. When they moved to this place, it was as beautiful as it is today. The world around them happened and this place seemed to be the same. Invisibly, somewhere on the horizon, ominous clouds gathered and obscured their view of the land and other people. Most notably missing were the people from the past, who once belonged to that land.

Tomorrow, they will wake and continue with their lives. They will drive the same county roads. They will visit the post office and send letters to their children away at State U. They will anticipate the arrival of the government checks that will ensure a more comfortable life in their older years. They will go hunting and spend time in the forests. They will consume the bounty of nature with scant care for the effects. They question their ability to sully God's creation. They will proclaim their patriotism.

They will work against all that is sacred and beautiful.