My good friend, Carl, an active, creative, and centered soul, began describing his feelings of unsettledness.
“Malaise,” I initially suggested. It’s a vague, general feeling of being out of sorts, unwell. I was referring not to just physical malaise but also the psychological, spiritual sense of being off without knowing why.
Jimmy Carter was eviscerated for describing the feelings of most Americans as having a “crisis of confidence.” Beyond the effects of the oil shortage on America’s mood during his presidency, there was also a spiritual and moral decline that he said shattered America’s unity and political will. It was called Carter’s “Malaise Speech,” despite him not using that word.
I suggest that Carl’s feelings of fatigue and boredom are the result not only of our oil shortage, I.C.E. murders, and the U.S. War on Iran, but instead the entire Trump presidency. He and his malignancy have shattered America’s unity and political will. I know that it has mine. We have a national crisis of confidence in the Supreme Court, the FBI, the Justice Department, the IRS, the Defense Department, the Senate and House.
How do we cope with the daily news of yet another loss of the president’s moral compass? We change channels in the hope that out of sight will result in out of mind. Many seek relief by watching the return of “Little House on the Prairie,” to see values triumph over power and money.
We live in a constant state of ennui, of boredom. Carl missed “having fun.” It’s a challenge to have fun at the funeral of good will around the country.
As there is a season for everything under the heavens, maybe this is a season of malaise. Acknowledging and accepting it as this moment in time, maybe that is what will prepare us to move forward once the time is right. Until then, where can we find peace with the awareness of our country’s “spiritual and moral decline?” Where do we find our fun?
I begin with laughter, the source being my own silliness in thought, word, and behavior. I remind myself that in the big picture of earth’s history, that of the universe, I’m just a teeny dot who takes myself and my life way too seriously. Death is sitting next to me, and I laugh at my expectation of perfection in myself and the world before I pass on.
Focus is another source of joy for me. Where am I? Who am I with? What are we doing? When Ray and I are kissing, as we do three times a day, three kisses each time, the last in each series lasting six seconds or more, I focus on the warmth of his lips and allow myself to be transported to the mid-1970s and the excitement and passion of our first kisses. I inhale him, and pull him close, and touch the side of his face. That is a big piece of my fun.
