Not Well Received by the Heavens

Dutifully, regretfully, we tuned in last night.  It’s been pending for months now, approaching like a scene that never gets any closer until it overwhelms you.  It is no longer a dreadful inevitability.  The Trump Presidency is now in the present tense.  I made myself watch the Inauguration.  The wife and the younger one joined.  What a somber thing to witness. 

America never waxes noble without an ugly, selfish reflection to fertilize it.  Soil-turning time.   Cheapness, mendacity, course mediocrity waxed across the capital yesterday, like a Titan Arun in full, corpse bloom.  The crowds that couldn’t manage to fill the plaza booed for what was good and cheered for what was foul.  The team that shouldn’t have won but did paraded through the remarkable ritual like a stream of hoods.

The CNN spokespeople, grasping for straws kept repeating how this was testimony to the durability of our system and the sanctity of the peaceful transfer of power.  Certainly, that is true.  Certainly that we have transferred power once again, peacefully, for the forty-fifth time, is an affirmation of the flexibility and adaptability of our Constitutional document.  China, which considers itself an ancient civilization is a toddler of a polity, having managed the peaceful transfer of power twice since the founding of the People’s Republic.  But that’s about all we could point to, it seemed.  Befuddled the CNN team kept coming back to it again and again.  The presidential invocation was “carnage” and “America First;” bald self-aggrandizement by one whose mastered the art.

Magically, it began to rain the moment Trump began to speak.  China would have seen this for the dismal auger it was: this man does not deserve the mandate of heaven.  A reverend that spoke, a magician, tried to suggest that it was a positive symbol of nourishment.  Certainly rain is our critical sustainer.  But this rain was not rejuventive.  It was clear.  This was celestial urine, with no metaphoric cloud clearing to neither punctuate it nor define it.  His message was not well received by the heavens.  A wet, cold rain merely, to wash upon the stain that this man has brought to the office.  Nature wouldn’t bend to his will, any more than it did during the deluge of W’s first inauguration.

So, let it rain on this self-proclaimed “heart of stone.”  Let it lubricate our country and soften it for all that is about to befall it.  Soil turning time once again.  Appreciate the barest rudiments:  this is temporal.  It isn’t permanent. 

Saturday, 01/21/17