This is bizarre. This morning, Dec. 20, I received an email from former San Diegan Donna Belk, who now lives in Philadelphia. She liked my column in the old San Diego Union, she said, and she cut one out and saved it. "I read it frequently when I need to be reminded that maybe humanity isn't completely worthless. I read it this morning after listening to a local radio DJ hyping the end of the Mayan calendar. Maybe this is the scenario they envisioned too." The column is reproduced below; it was published in 1982, 30 years ago.
Just after 7 o'clock on a fine spring morning a voice came to mankind out of a clear blue sky.
"The world will be brought to an end before there is another dawn," it said. "This will be your last day on Earth. Enjoy it."
Despite the convincing delivery, more than a few played devil's advocate and inquired of the messenger, "How can we know that it's true?"
"Watch the moon," came the reply.
The full moon at that hour rode low in the pastel western sky, pale and vulnerable. At 7:15 it burst into flame and burned furiously for a few minutes before exploding into a sparkling cloud that bloomed above the horizon like a silver rose.
Mankind, after a few stunning moments of silence, broke into an accusatory buzz. In the following 90 minutes, blame was laid at many feet. But the bitterness was hollow, because it was generally recognized that blame no longer mattered.
The day was warm and cloudless. Chickens laid. Cows gave milk. Larks sang brightly in fields flushed with the greening promise of a good harvest. Their song drifted on the silence and blended with other melodies of the planet in a chorus not quite like anyone had ever heard, though it was only their regular Wednesday tune. Not that anyone noticed it was Wednesday.
Here at home, in a 9 a.m. joint session, Congress declared it a national holiday and went into recess. Some thought was given to moving the President to a place of safety, but he declined this notion and stayed in the White House.
At 10:10, the President canceled a military alert that had existed since 7:17 and ordered a complete military stand-down. An air marshal in Moscow, monitoring the order, withdrew a top-secret scenario from a safe, leafed through it briefly, and with a shrug tossed it toward a wastebasket. The file flew open, scattering target lists across the floor. Radio transmissions had switched automatically to Civil Defense bands, but by noon most stations had resumed program control. The television networks devoted almost all of their air time to coverage of the story. Several radio stations began count-downs of "The Top 100 All-Time Hits." There were no commercial interruptions.
Afternoon newspapers, complete with baseball standings, hit the streets with full-page photos of the dying moon, while editors of the morning dailies tried to decide what to do.
Little panic was reported. Churches were crowded, business districts deserted, skeleton crews sufficed. Some looting was reported, though it was half-hearted, as the stores no longer contained anything of value. Supermarkets dropped their prices to cost. The mail went through. Telephone lines became choked with good-byes.
In residential districts, families gathered their children around them. Reporters there found a mood that grew almost celebratory, like the Fourth of July. There were cookouts everywhere, and adults and children ran through sprinklers and wiggled their toes in the grass and laughed like there was no tomorrow.
In the absence of the future, the present acquired a curious unfamiliarity, as if it were being experienced for the first time. In this vivid light, oranges and apples became miracles, and grimy little boys works of art.
The adventure so absorbed the adventurers that, toward late afternoon, the past became disembodied as well, estranging indifference and leaving only the here and now and each other to embrace. Between brothers, the embarrassed silence of strangers melted into familiar laughter, and daughter looked into mother's eyes to find they were not blue, but hazel.
Shadows lengthened. Mankind forced a glance over its shoulder at the lowering, growing sun. Down a rosy cirrus stepladder it slipped toward the night, until for an instant a man's shadow could escape the Earth and cast itself on infinity.
The great warm ball dwindled to an orange puddle that clung like a tear on the horizon. And then, for the last time, it ran out.
Mankind watched until the afterglow was gone, then turned inward beneath the moonless black void to wait. The networks promised to stay on the air until the very end, offering commentary on where we had been and how we got here, and keeping a watch out for the first signs of the final event.
Eventually, but sooner than might have been expected, a faint glow appeared in the eastern sky. It grew steadily, pushing the night back like a shroud. It was a fragile blue glow, the observatories noted, and mankind watched in awe.
Presently the stars disappeared, and the entire sky was aglow. Then a blinding shaft of light exploded through a low crack on the horizon and pierced the sky with the glittering brilliance of a fiery diamond.
"Why, this is a dawn!" the observatories declared, and the networks flashed the word.
"What's happening?" breathed mankind. The voice replied, "I changed my mind."
December 20, 2012
December 19, 2012
The Right Wing, starring Mitch, John and Mr. President
Sen. McConnell's office. Speaker Boehner enters, stern-faced. He has just given a brief statement to the press, critical of the President's refusal to consider Plan B.
"John," says Mitch, "this 'Plan B' idea has been inspired from start to finish."
"Thanks," says John, his face relaxing a bit. "My Indiana grandpa told me, 'Boy, if you want to split a rail, you have to have a rail to split.' His wisdom has worked for me before."
"So this time, Plan B is the rail," says Mitch, remembering John's confidence on Monday that the Times would characterize it as "a scaled-back" plan, made more palatable to House Republicans by raising the tax-increase threshold to people making $1 million.
"I have to say, it's going well," says John. "Of course we knew the President would threaten to veto it immediately."
"I thought the tone of your reply to him – 'bizarre and irrational' – was spot-on," says Mitch. "It kills two birds with one stone: distances us from the President with words that will energize the tea partiers."
John smiles. "Well, and then, Norquist hops on board, too." He read from the Post: "Grover Norquist, the longtime anti-tax advocate, had blessed Mr. Boehner's plan as compliant with his 'taxpayer protection plan.' Norquist seemed to bend his longstanding, absolutist principles to issue the endorsement."
"Brilliant," says Mitch. "The tea partiers are going to vote 'no,' no matter what anyone says, while the centrists, the 'New GOP,' can vote 'for,' and cite Norquist's new 'relevance to tax debates,' the Post says, which is exactly what he wants."
"By this time tomorrow," says John, "the rail should be split: the New GOP accepting Plan B, the tea partiers rejecting. Then the whole thing goes away when the President vetoes it, we get back to serious business, and the tea partiers are split away from the New GOP, and headed toward irrelevancy before the year is even out."
Mitch scratches his head. "You know, I thought it would take us a year to get the tea partiers out of the picture, which had to happen before we could move forward with the New GOP's 'A New Era for America.' And now it's almost done! I don't know how it could have happened any better."
"It is time we had some good news around here," says John.
"John," says Mitch, "this 'Plan B' idea has been inspired from start to finish."
"Thanks," says John, his face relaxing a bit. "My Indiana grandpa told me, 'Boy, if you want to split a rail, you have to have a rail to split.' His wisdom has worked for me before."
"So this time, Plan B is the rail," says Mitch, remembering John's confidence on Monday that the Times would characterize it as "a scaled-back" plan, made more palatable to House Republicans by raising the tax-increase threshold to people making $1 million.
"I have to say, it's going well," says John. "Of course we knew the President would threaten to veto it immediately."
"I thought the tone of your reply to him – 'bizarre and irrational' – was spot-on," says Mitch. "It kills two birds with one stone: distances us from the President with words that will energize the tea partiers."
John smiles. "Well, and then, Norquist hops on board, too." He read from the Post: "Grover Norquist, the longtime anti-tax advocate, had blessed Mr. Boehner's plan as compliant with his 'taxpayer protection plan.' Norquist seemed to bend his longstanding, absolutist principles to issue the endorsement."
"Brilliant," says Mitch. "The tea partiers are going to vote 'no,' no matter what anyone says, while the centrists, the 'New GOP,' can vote 'for,' and cite Norquist's new 'relevance to tax debates,' the Post says, which is exactly what he wants."
"By this time tomorrow," says John, "the rail should be split: the New GOP accepting Plan B, the tea partiers rejecting. Then the whole thing goes away when the President vetoes it, we get back to serious business, and the tea partiers are split away from the New GOP, and headed toward irrelevancy before the year is even out."
Mitch scratches his head. "You know, I thought it would take us a year to get the tea partiers out of the picture, which had to happen before we could move forward with the New GOP's 'A New Era for America.' And now it's almost done! I don't know how it could have happened any better."
"It is time we had some good news around here," says John.
December 07, 2012
The Right Wing, starring Mitch, John and Mr. President
The Speaker's office.
"Mitch, what do you have on Jim DeMint?" he says.
"Nothing," says Mitch.
"You mean you didn't strong-arm him to resign?"
"Of course not. But now that you mention it . . . "
"No, no, I'm sorry I said it. But it was just such a stroke of luck . . . "
Rep. Ryan appears in the doorway. "Gentlemen! It's a great day for The New . . . The New . . . The New Era in America!"
Mitch, with his old, stern "one term for Obama" look, says, "Go ahead, Paul, go ahead and say it."
"Where Obamacare becomes . . . aiiiyeeee!"
"He's not ready yet," says Mitch, studying the chair-hurdling athleticism of Rep. Ryan's retreat.
"Well, it took me a few tries too," smiles the Speaker, remembering. He turns to the window, spreads his arms wide and says, easily, as if from a podium, "Where Obamacare becomes Americare!"
"Whoa," mutters Mitch, lifting his chin in the direction of the window, as if sniffing the wind. "Can you feel Lindsey Graham drifting toward the center?"
"It's like David Brooks wrote this morning about the GOP," says John: "'They are moving in the right direction and moving fast. These are first steps, and encouraging ones.' 2016, here we come!"
"Mitch, what do you have on Jim DeMint?" he says.
"Nothing," says Mitch.
"You mean you didn't strong-arm him to resign?"
"Of course not. But now that you mention it . . . "
"No, no, I'm sorry I said it. But it was just such a stroke of luck . . . "
Rep. Ryan appears in the doorway. "Gentlemen! It's a great day for The New . . . The New . . . The New Era in America!"
Mitch, with his old, stern "one term for Obama" look, says, "Go ahead, Paul, go ahead and say it."
"Where Obamacare becomes . . . aiiiyeeee!"
"He's not ready yet," says Mitch, studying the chair-hurdling athleticism of Rep. Ryan's retreat.
"Well, it took me a few tries too," smiles the Speaker, remembering. He turns to the window, spreads his arms wide and says, easily, as if from a podium, "Where Obamacare becomes Americare!"
"Whoa," mutters Mitch, lifting his chin in the direction of the window, as if sniffing the wind. "Can you feel Lindsey Graham drifting toward the center?"
"It's like David Brooks wrote this morning about the GOP," says John: "'They are moving in the right direction and moving fast. These are first steps, and encouraging ones.' 2016, here we come!"
December 05, 2012
The Right Wing, starring Mitch, John and Mr. President
The Speaker's office.
"This is going a lot better than I thought it would," says John.
"Maybe too good," says Sen. McConnell, reading a Sarah Palin newspaper quote: "John Boehner is a decent fellow." "Our biggest job," says Mitch, "may turn out to stay in control of the thing."
"Oh," says John. "This is for you." He hands Mitch a 5x7 plain wood picture frame. "Lucretia made these up for us."
Mitch reads the framed material, printed in a formal font.
"The New Real GOP
1. Take the real GOP back from the tea party.
2. Meet Obama halfway to achieve 'A New Era for America,' real progress in the next four years in the economy, health care, immigration reform, women's issues.
3. Claim credit for the 'New Era' in the 2016 campaign.
4. Nominate a viable presidential candidate for a change.
5. Crush the tea party."
"Lucretia thought it would be a good idea for us to have the guiding principles handy, just to look at once in a while," says John. "We're going to be working in a huge field of weeds, all the details that go with the fiscal cliff, the economy, health care, and the rest. We don't want to lose sight of the main goal."
"I can see that," says Mitch. "It will also be helpful when events start happening so fast, as they have been this week. Everyone seems so hell-bent on decontaminating the party, after the election. We need to have something" – he brandishes the frame – "to help us keep our eye on the real prize."
"Yes," says John. "We need to stay in control of the rogues like Roskam," referring to Illinois GOP Rep. Peter Roskam, who appealed to President Obama "to rise above partisanship. President Obama has an unbelievable opportunity to be a transformational president, that is to bring the country together."
"The way we frame it," looking at the frame again, "is to say the President is going to transform the GOP, bring the party together. Unbelievable as that sounds."
"This is going a lot better than I thought it would," says John.
"Maybe too good," says Sen. McConnell, reading a Sarah Palin newspaper quote: "John Boehner is a decent fellow." "Our biggest job," says Mitch, "may turn out to stay in control of the thing."
"Oh," says John. "This is for you." He hands Mitch a 5x7 plain wood picture frame. "Lucretia made these up for us."
Mitch reads the framed material, printed in a formal font.
"The New Real GOP
1. Take the real GOP back from the tea party.
2. Meet Obama halfway to achieve 'A New Era for America,' real progress in the next four years in the economy, health care, immigration reform, women's issues.
3. Claim credit for the 'New Era' in the 2016 campaign.
4. Nominate a viable presidential candidate for a change.
5. Crush the tea party."
"Lucretia thought it would be a good idea for us to have the guiding principles handy, just to look at once in a while," says John. "We're going to be working in a huge field of weeds, all the details that go with the fiscal cliff, the economy, health care, and the rest. We don't want to lose sight of the main goal."
"I can see that," says Mitch. "It will also be helpful when events start happening so fast, as they have been this week. Everyone seems so hell-bent on decontaminating the party, after the election. We need to have something" – he brandishes the frame – "to help us keep our eye on the real prize."
"Yes," says John. "We need to stay in control of the rogues like Roskam," referring to Illinois GOP Rep. Peter Roskam, who appealed to President Obama "to rise above partisanship. President Obama has an unbelievable opportunity to be a transformational president, that is to bring the country together."
"The way we frame it," looking at the frame again, "is to say the President is going to transform the GOP, bring the party together. Unbelievable as that sounds."
December 03, 2012
Finding peace at Christmastime
(Every year, in the first week of December, I post this blog again, hoping someone will find it useful.)
"Peace on Earth” this Christmas of 2012?
Don’t think so. So many Christmas cards I’ve mailed, promising “Peace on Earth.” Hasn’t happened in my lifetime. I have seen Christmas cards in family scrapbooks from the 1940s, including 1943, the year I was born. They promised “Peace on Earth,” in the middle of World War II, with the first tactical atomic explosion at Hiroshima still two years away. I haven’t and wouldn’t be able to document it, but I’ll bet Earth has not had a moment of peace since then.
Maybe if we narrowed it down. “Peace in the Christian World.” Nope. “Peace in America.” Daily murders, violence and crime, in streets, in movies and on TV. “Peace in California.” Road rage capital of the world. “Peace in San Diego.” Nope. Daily mayhem. “Peace in La Mesa.” La Mesa is where I live, and we do have our quiet moments, but why would I offer that as your Christmas wish? “Peace at my house.” Now we’re getting close, as long as we don’t watch the news, but peace at my house doesn’t do you much good, and your good is my wish.
No, once again this Christmas, peace anywhere on Earth has to be portable, and that peace is achievable. Insurance follows the car, and peace follows the person. “Peace in your mind” is totally possible this Christmas Day, or if not this Christmas (it takes a little work), then by Christmas 2006. If peace follows all the people who come to sit down at your Christmas dinner, then you will have “Peace at the Christmas dinner table.”
At many Christmas dinner tables, though, you might as well ask for “Peace on Earth.”
So many people go through life wired with buttons to be pushed. Such buttons can be pushed from a range of a thousand miles. All it takes is the right word traveling through the air. Get a dozen button-wired people at a Christmas dinner table, and watch out.
The buttons can be unwired. All you have to do is take back the power you have given to some other person to push it. These can be very important and powerful people: mothers, fathers, etc. But it isn’t their power they use to push your buttons. It is yours. You gave it to them years ago, probably starting in childhood. With that power, they can push your buttons at any time and make you feel small, cheap, insignificant, selfish, ungrateful, undesirable, inferior, a lifelong waster of every opportunity you ever had at achieving the greatness that you were born for, if you had only listened to the person leaning with all his or her weight against the thumb pressing your button.
You gave that person that power and weight, and you can take it back. All it takes is forgiveness. Appropriate, at the Christmas season, and the figure it celebrates, that the route to peace involves forgiveness. But it works. I don’t know exactly how it works, and it takes some work and willingness to get there, but when you forgive, you take power back, and peace is there waiting. Forgiveness, power, peace, freedom and surrender are all different spellings of the same human condition: happiness.
When you are ready, and it very well could require some professional guidance, you come to a point where you simply say in your mind to a person: “I forgive you.” At that instant, the button becomes unwired. The person may say the same things as before, words that for years you felt as sandpaper in your ears or an arrow through your heart. But now the words pass right through you and out into space. Left behind is a feeling of liberation you have known only in your dreams.
You haven’t said a word to the person about forgiveness. The person knows something has happened, though, because the button doesn’t work anymore. So he or she quits pushing, and it is a relief. It was your power, but it required their energy to keep their thumbs on your buttons all those years, and at some point, inside themselves, they will feel relieved.
But this Christmas story about reachable peace is not about them; it is about you. It is a true story.
"Peace on Earth” this Christmas of 2012?
Don’t think so. So many Christmas cards I’ve mailed, promising “Peace on Earth.” Hasn’t happened in my lifetime. I have seen Christmas cards in family scrapbooks from the 1940s, including 1943, the year I was born. They promised “Peace on Earth,” in the middle of World War II, with the first tactical atomic explosion at Hiroshima still two years away. I haven’t and wouldn’t be able to document it, but I’ll bet Earth has not had a moment of peace since then.
Maybe if we narrowed it down. “Peace in the Christian World.” Nope. “Peace in America.” Daily murders, violence and crime, in streets, in movies and on TV. “Peace in California.” Road rage capital of the world. “Peace in San Diego.” Nope. Daily mayhem. “Peace in La Mesa.” La Mesa is where I live, and we do have our quiet moments, but why would I offer that as your Christmas wish? “Peace at my house.” Now we’re getting close, as long as we don’t watch the news, but peace at my house doesn’t do you much good, and your good is my wish.
No, once again this Christmas, peace anywhere on Earth has to be portable, and that peace is achievable. Insurance follows the car, and peace follows the person. “Peace in your mind” is totally possible this Christmas Day, or if not this Christmas (it takes a little work), then by Christmas 2006. If peace follows all the people who come to sit down at your Christmas dinner, then you will have “Peace at the Christmas dinner table.”
At many Christmas dinner tables, though, you might as well ask for “Peace on Earth.”
So many people go through life wired with buttons to be pushed. Such buttons can be pushed from a range of a thousand miles. All it takes is the right word traveling through the air. Get a dozen button-wired people at a Christmas dinner table, and watch out.
The buttons can be unwired. All you have to do is take back the power you have given to some other person to push it. These can be very important and powerful people: mothers, fathers, etc. But it isn’t their power they use to push your buttons. It is yours. You gave it to them years ago, probably starting in childhood. With that power, they can push your buttons at any time and make you feel small, cheap, insignificant, selfish, ungrateful, undesirable, inferior, a lifelong waster of every opportunity you ever had at achieving the greatness that you were born for, if you had only listened to the person leaning with all his or her weight against the thumb pressing your button.
You gave that person that power and weight, and you can take it back. All it takes is forgiveness. Appropriate, at the Christmas season, and the figure it celebrates, that the route to peace involves forgiveness. But it works. I don’t know exactly how it works, and it takes some work and willingness to get there, but when you forgive, you take power back, and peace is there waiting. Forgiveness, power, peace, freedom and surrender are all different spellings of the same human condition: happiness.
When you are ready, and it very well could require some professional guidance, you come to a point where you simply say in your mind to a person: “I forgive you.” At that instant, the button becomes unwired. The person may say the same things as before, words that for years you felt as sandpaper in your ears or an arrow through your heart. But now the words pass right through you and out into space. Left behind is a feeling of liberation you have known only in your dreams.
You haven’t said a word to the person about forgiveness. The person knows something has happened, though, because the button doesn’t work anymore. So he or she quits pushing, and it is a relief. It was your power, but it required their energy to keep their thumbs on your buttons all those years, and at some point, inside themselves, they will feel relieved.
But this Christmas story about reachable peace is not about them; it is about you. It is a true story.
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