1962 Cuban Missile Cris
In the resurrection of life are memories of terrible loss, often blinding us to the sometimes, subtle inspiration to carry on. Is reason, wisdom whispering in our ear: resist those who speak lightly of war, while hailing the chief of false prophecies, oblivious to the Cause Célèbre preceding The Pieta.
Descendants of generations of Passover, once again find humanity choosing between man’s inhumanity to man and the calculations by madmen.
Again, the world is in the hands of a composition of despots, Putin, Assad, Erdoğan, Kim Jong-Un and Trump, all as dishonest and unstable as they are perilously dangerous. Senior citizens have witnessed reconstruction after man-made destruction, but the magnitude of both the insanity and efficiency of war has evolved well beyond even the Bush/Cheney Mushroom Cloud inflammation of bloodshed.
If dominion over earth is our commission, then we must resurrect the balance found in peaceful co-existence, before the pride of leaders induces the fall of nations. Our immense power is the courage of true human kindness, not the ashes into which demagogues lacking conscience, human decency, reigning without roots in the reason of deep thinking, would entomb us.
If we can but divine this reality check: the first shall be last and the last shall be first, we could escape the betrayal of, all for one and one for all, by the deception of America First.
It is in revelation that we discover the truth — most loss on earth is caused by humans who have lost sight of life’s greatest gift: the opportunity to love, to share and to prosper in peaceful ensemble — little is beyond the reach of those with the vision and desire to see and progress forward embracing world peace.
Arguably, Donald Trump has some competition for being the most self-serving, needy of praise, inept President ever to occupy the White House, but with a lust for being the idol of mesmerized idolaters, while hovering his middle finger over nuclear launch codes, he is more terrible than any Ivan or Cesar – indoctrinating a child’s White House Easter Egg Hunt with, stronger and better…than ever before rhetoric, sad.
Emma Morano was born November 29, 1899. In 2017, between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, on the 86th day of the Trump Administration, she died at the age of 117. She lived to see humankind advance from ox drawn carts to automobiles; from Kitty Hawk to the Moon. Ms. Morano survived Mussolini, two World Wars, The Korean Conflict and an attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II.
Emma Morano lived to hear of Trump’s election escalating global stress levels, threatening a new nuclear age Korean War, while seemingly diminishing both the need to hope for reversing Climate Change and imprisoning science behind the walls of Reactionary Nostalgia.
She lived to see a black looking president on TV and a TV personality – all Birther atwitter in the bewitching hours of alternative facts – lusting to bury the memory of his able predecessor.
Living eighty-four years longer than Jesus of Nazareth, Emma Morano undoubtedly knew, boisterous rattling of sabers, gesticulating war, defying The Ten Commandments, can deafen humanity to the world’s heart pounding memories of the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis – and even perhaps, short-circuit American conscientiousness to Russian connectors Paul Manafort and Carter Page.
Unlike Martha Raddatz, not all of us can bear witness to a Trump epiphany, following Assad’s horrific Siren Gas attack on his own people – Sean Spicer’s historical misinformation, notwithstanding.
Beware, perched in-between Palm and Easter Sundays, an ancient giant observes the mad moves and moods of those having no idea how to orchestrate an end, without a finale.
Indeed, it is for us, to extract from any tomb of ignorance, the discernment of the marriage between Resurrection, Revelation and the joy of discovery in the laughter of children – for what will it profit America if we bomb the s**t out of any soul only to lose the whole world?