When Trees Dance the Hoochie Coochie

Finding a branch to hold onto

What’s wrong? Everything.

In no particular order of terribleness…Dutch farmers are having their farms taken from them— 3,000 so far. Dr. Peter McCullough has pretty much given us marching orders to pay attention to the world take over and he named names. Mothers feel compelled to call their boy or girl toddlers “they,” and author, philosopher Charles Eisenstein has us willingly falling into the pit of hell in his latest original film.

What happens when trees look like they are dancing to silent music, and the sky seems to hold secrets that we cannot know?

Grab for a branch!

It’s all you can do.

And once there. Just dangle for awhile. Catch your breath.

I am going to the Braver Angels National Conference next week. 600 delegates, both red and blue, will convene in Gettysburg, PA, the site of the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, where 50,000 perished.

I am nervous about this event. I wish I could go with a friend. What was I thinking when I signed up? Well, it happened more like this. The Braver Angels sent out a call for auditions. That’s right, they needed actors. Not re-enactors for the civil war battle, that’s a whole other thing.

This was for an original play that would be written based upon Civil War letters and papers, and the stories that the actors would tell about their experience today in our polarized society. I, as you might know as a reader of my stack, am an actor and playwright, so everything about this project rings my chimes.

I auditioned. I got the part. And, before you knew it, I had paid the Braver Angel dues, and signed up for the four day conference. This was more than I bargained for. But, I am now committed. It feels a bit like I was “tricked” into it. But, I did the tricking.

You see, I want desperately to help our county. I want to join the likes of the brave generals Dr. McCullough, and brave Sasha Latypova, and brave Katherine Watt, brave Margaret Anna Alice, and brave Tom Renz…and more.

I want to fight this war. Where do I enlist?

Where are my comrades?

Who has my back? And, where is the battle anyhow?

It began a couple of days ago. I started feeling panicky, like something was about to happen, but I didn’t know what. Then, I began pacing. Looking for something in this room, then going to that room.

Damn! I quit drinking two months ago. NOW would be the time I would take those first sips of wine, and let the mellow yellow begin. Then a few more, to stop the pacing and the racing thoughts. It worked. It did work. And now?

Instead, I open up about my “true feelings” at a family picnic. Someone is telling me what a great show Shucked on Broadway is, and what a great Netflix show Call the Midwife is, and I say, “You know, I don’t watch movies.” This surprises my sister-in-law’s sister, who has struck up a convo with the family actor.

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t like watching stories anymore because of the false pretenses that are presented in a world that I no longer recognize.”

“What?”

“The last two years has been a brick by brick dismantling of every “story” I thought was true.”

“I don’t want more STORIES!” I want truth. Some shred of truth.”

“But, couldn’t you use a distraction?” the friendly family member, who must be somewhat awake, said, after seeing my true distress.

“I don’t want to be distracted. That’s what got me and everyone into this mess!”

“Oh dear.”

She said she loved live theatre and her favorite musical is Miss Saigon. “Never seen it,” I say.

“Tell you what, she says, “if it plays anywhere in the US, let’s meet there, stay in a motel and go together.”

The whole idea sounded prophetic. I said, “OK, we’ll do it.”

Man, she was bound and determined to get me to say yes to one of her story suggestions! And I finally did!

There must be something in that show for me. There must be.

Until then, I will have to find meaning in the play, of which I am a part, Four Score: a Memory Play, which will be held on July 5th at Gettysburg College.

In one of the highlights of the monologue given by my character, I read a letter from my son, Jeremiah Gaige. His poignant words are unsettling, “Remember that I am true to my country and my greatest regret at dying is that she is not free and that you and my sisters are robbed of my worth whatever that may be.”

At my age, I have some sort of “anticipatory regret.”

My country is not free! And I fear that I will die before we finally break free of the tyrants, the billionaire controllers, and whatever evil intentioned entities that might have co-opted this beautiful earth planet.

I am hanging onto a limb while the tree dances the hoochie coochie and someone is shaking it.

Stay tuned for Act Three.