I don’t remember ever meeting anyone more cynical and pessimistic than myself. Not only do I see the glass as being half empty, I focus on the bacteria and assorted scum that floats around in it. Disgust and outrage are always nearby companions in my life.
I get together with assorted curmudgeonly friends and froth at the mouth over the misconduct, greed, and general stench of politicians and corporations. I can’t listen to or read the news without knowing that I’m on the ass end of the most cunning and sophisticated propaganda machine that’s ever existed. Get me going on religion and stand back - the acid that I spew may be harmful to your health.
JESUS ON A BUDDHA!!! WHY THE HELL DON’T I PUT A GUN TO MY HEAD AND LEAVE THIS MISERABLE DUNG HEAP?
It’s because, in addition to regularly feeling like a pissed off, jaded misanthrope, I know what it feels like to love and to be loved. And although my heart does ache and I cry over insufferable misery and injustice in this world, I do have hope.
This past Saturday, I took my two young daughters, my most precious reasons for maintaining hope, to a Native American Gathering of Nations. I was among a group of people who have endured the worst of what mankind has to offer and who have every right to harbor negative feelings. During the opening ceremony, their spokesperson led the assembled crowd in a prayer for the victims of the death and destruction that literally rained down on the southern tip of Manhattan. They are hurting as we all are. My perspective was adjusted. I am a very fortunate man.
I compare my hope to the light of a candle that is next to a black hole of despair, but I manage to keep a flame burning.
We will continue.