A drive has taken me here, pushed me here, forced me to sit at the keyboard. Yet, I know not why, nor what to say.
I do not think George W is an evil person, but I may be wrong. What compulsion could be driving the man into a position of attacking another country (Iran) at a time when we can barely sustain our forces in Iraq? There is no way we can sustain an extensive ground war in Afganistan, Iraq and Iran at the same time. No way short of a military draft. Yet he talks as if that is his focus. Evil, no, but possibly tragically possessed with some obsession of manifest destiny.
My early favorite Democrat, Obama, seems to lack the spine to get mean enough to defeat Hillary. Hillary has too many loose ends and too many tight stretches to hold it together. This tragic couple (Hillary & Bill) will be unable to avoid a major melt-down before the election (Nov 08). Watch her start to fade by mid-January.
Edwards will fade, as his money dries up. Richardson can't stop talking about his experiences (and we are tired of listening). So that leaves Joe Biden, another early favorite of mine. The most articulate candidate in the field, he may have learned to measure his words.
Interesting to me, at least, but not the reason I sat here this day.
I am headed to retirement next June (08). The change looks very intriguing to me. Mostly, I hope to have time to research and write: stuff about theology, mental illness, to re-read all of Kurt Vonnegutt's books. To teach some progressive theology classes. To work 20 hours a week in some church, probably in a visiting pastor role. To be able to find a small circle of friends with whom I'll need not maintain a "pastoral" role. To get my blood sugar under control. To help my grandson, grand daughter grow up. To develop a web site that will have lasting value. To get my appetites under control: financial and food.
Well, maybe one of two of those things, before I peek into eternity.
Erik Erikson's Eighth Stage of Man involves the struggle between despair and intergrity. I know that will be a major field of turmoil for me. Despair could mean falling into the easy chair with the latest book of Sudoku puzzles and refusing to come out. Or, it could be a fanatical dive into some messianic effort to set the world right. May I be saved from any resolution; saved for a wholeness that comes from equal parts of ying and yang.
Where does the passion of life surface? Have I really developed gills so that the passion for fresh air has been squashed? Little by little, unnoticeably, have I pushed my own thoughts and feelings back into the folds of a dark blanket, for the sake of promoting the growth of parishioner's spiritual weeds? Have I listened with an ear concerned for their tranquility rather than growth? Have I worried more about being controversial, than instructive?
Somehow this diatribe has not brought satisfaction, for there is an incompleteness to it all these days. Standing on the precipice, looking down, then up, I feel certain that the allure of what's-happening-tomorrow will keep me in the race. Hardball, Countdown, Jon Stewart, even Bill Maher will keep me looking around the corner; hoping that George W hasn't blown up the world, or provoked some else into doing it. Pity the man; fear what he might do.
Conrad
