Tribalism

The root of the ancient, persistent, and pervasive issues we’re all grappling with so fitfully in the wake of Trump’s election is tribalism. The inherited compulsion to associate only with “your tribe,” which is so powerfully nested in our genes because once it was what kept humans alive, is now what threatens to keep the country and the world divided by difference (whether it’s race, ethnicity, religion, nation, politics, or any of the host of defining characteristics people tend to cling to). If humanity doesn’t evolve beyond those instincts, and outgrow their exclusive tribe, we’ll destroy any hope of harmonious human coexistence and unity. Just sayin’…

This Old Leviathan

Southern gentlemen sipped sweet tea
and blithely capered
through those cataclysmic years, flourishing
and feasting on stolen souls
raked up like fallen leaves
to work and turn and feed the soil.
Those feted kings of coal mines and cotton,
tobacco and pine sap, reigned from Florida
to Tennessee and let no mere humanity
set limits or etch a moral line
they dared not cross in their pursuit
of profit and supremacy.
Dark were the days and dark was the shade
that burned, a haunting shibboleth
that told of imprisonment, exploitation,
and death in that confederacy of blood.
The historical stink of it still reeks
to this today with the ratification of race itself–
a rising crime against us all.
But here we are accepting it, wearing it,
wrapping ourselves in it
like a uniform, and making the fraud a fetish,
fully affirming it with signs and symbols
and ornaments of solidarity. This old leviathan,
its tentacles casting a vast web of tragedy
and transgression, fragments the universal
and keeps the fragile old strata intact,
dividing to conquer and privileging to persuade.
So we perfect our uniforms
and embrace our symbols to comfort
and protect us in the face of the monster,
but the more we refine and polish,
the more imperfect and onerous
that comfort becomes. We define ourselves
more and more exclusively
by difference in uniform,
and in time we submit, like those before us,
to the endless appetite of ego,
indeed, becoming the monster ourselves
and exploring a self-righteous claim to power
over the lives and bodies of Others.
And now we sit, disciples of modernity,
stretching our tentacles
and ignoring the lessons of history,
content to sip our ice cold drink,
while we wait for the feast to begin.

The Best and True Eugenics

Sitting in their bed, sharing thoughts and sipping Starbucks coffee, their memories resonated, like notes of distant music, thrumming in the artifacts gathered and placed so carefully around the conscious space they shared.

He rolled his hand on rumpled sheets, inviting her touch, and the brown skin of her fingers interlaced with the white skin of his. It was a natural fit. They felt it when they met, so many years ago, determined in love, regardless of the skeptics, the orthodoxy, and the outright anger that confronted them.

They felt it when they met, and they knew it absolutely in that present moment, as their beautiful children lay sleeping, healthy, safe and warm, perfect in their imperfections, insisting in their peaceful repose that love—not tradition nor history nor tribe nor clan nor culture nor theory—but love in all its brilliant promise is the best and true eugenics and the only healthy path for the pilgrimage of humanity.