June 26, 2022
I sit in my front yard with the first cup of coffee, the hard plastic bench uncomfortable but acceptable as a brief place of rest.
The neighborhood is Sunday quiet. The doctor who lives catercorner across the street returns from Sunday morning yoga, a brief respite from kids and husband. Two doors down, white balloons droop forlornly from a mailbox, evidence of another neighbor’s Saturday night Solstice party.
I know these people to speak to, casual chats, the occasional strategy sessions when fires are threatening and the decision to stay or leave has a communal flavor. We all go, or we all stay.
But do I know them? No. Do they know me? No.
It’s marginally possible that they, too, are following breadcrumbs that lead down rabbit holes. That they, too, are aware of the switch that was flipped by the Supreme Court’s Roe vs. Wade ruling on June 24. (1)
It’s far more likely that they not only haven’t dived into the rabbit holes, they’re not aware they exist. Even with more undeniable facts burbling to the mainstream surface, unless people have been following alternative media, the next switch to be flipped will leave them flabbergasted.
So today, I enjoy this Sunday quiet, as possibly the last day when ignorance still supports bliss.
*****
Or so I imagine. Will the extra opinion day the Supreme Court allotted itself for Monday, June 27, bring nothing more than a ho-hum ruling on some obscure matter?
Or will it bring the ruling that the 2020 election was fraudulent, and the United States has suffered under the rule of an imposter for the last year and a half?
Whether that bombshell is dropped tomorrow or on some future date, I have complete faith that it will be dropped.
So, if the shockwaves don’t shriek from person to person on Monday, the Internet burning up with Facebook posts as diehard deniers cling to “it’s all conspiracy theory,” it’s going to happen at some point.
At some point, denial will no longer be possible.
And then, where will my Sunday quiet be? Will there be the rioting that’s been predicted, will the National Guard be locking us down, will paid professional troublemakers be smashing windows and terrorizing civilians on the sleepy streets of Santa Barbara?
Perhaps. If some version of turbulence does land in my community, it will behoove me to recall that it can’t touch the peace within me. The steadfast peace that has nothing to do with outer circumstance.
I finish my coffee and return to the somnolent house, ready for sacred Sunday pursuits.
(1) See: “On the Edge of Tomorrow…,” and “Clandestine ~ It Had to Be This Way.”