The whole point of Kamala Harris' campaign was to demonstrate the difference between female spirituality and masculine competition. Harris' inclusivity, compassion, ethical toughness and humor was overwhelming. She also did something I've not seen any other politician do: look another human being in the eyes, directly, and say, "How are you?" and mean it, then listen completely to the response.
In 2016, Hillary Clinton was cast and cast herself in the male model, and was all the more unbelievable, because she promised "the same old shit." When she said, a propos of Ghadaffi, "We came, we saw, he died," I wanted to throw up. I was a Sanders supporter then, and when Bernie saw he wasn't going to win and asked us to support Clinton - the very reason we were supporting him - I looked elsewhere. Jill Stein wasn't on the ticket, in Georgia, so I thought, "I'll vote for that asshole, Trump, because the Republicans will get rid of him within six months." That was my second mistake. The first mistake I made was not to follow my first and principal rule: how many Supreme Court positions are open, in the next administration? Vote Supreme Court. I knew nothing of Trump at that time, except that he was a mediocre clown playing daytime tv against standard Republican fare. I wasn't aware how many daytime tv viewers there were and are in America. I thought he'd lose - or if he won, the weight of the Republican Party would smother him.
In my conversations with my Flora of Botticelli fame, She said, "The last battle will be between the women themselves." She meant, the women who bought the masculine bollocks, as opposed to the women who trusted their own nature and spirituality.
Spiritual women collaborate, they don't compete. There's a marvelous documentary about a world competition for female conductors. The finalists who didn't win decide among themselves to work together, and do concerts together. The terms that the judges used in the competition were clearly male-dominated, including turning the baton into a penis...!
All of my writing has followed the teaching of a muse and the underpinning of civilization - all of which is dominated by a Muse figure. From a pop male misreading of a teenager in SHE LET HIM CONTINUE, to a mysterious dance figure who enlightens a young choreographer in JOOP'S DANCE, to an evisceration of the male competitive urge in PIT BULL, and most recently, in my latest and unpublished novel, KASHIMI, which deals with the next human and hypernatural evolution, with the greater understanding and use of of gravity in our physical and spiritual worlds - through the eyes of a young film-maker, and three extraordinary women. (Later, I was happily surprised to see part of the idea dramatized in the final duet inWICKED - "Defying gravity".) It dramatizes that the next evolutionary leap is the sacred feminine --- all the more obvious with the backsliding Neanderthal bullyboys of Trump and his minions.
My response to Kamala, and what I believe she means politically, I describe in the second half of an essay I'm sending to you - about growing up and believing in The Fireside Book of Folk Songs as the world. I was only six.
My daily nausea is a result of Kamala's defeat at the polls. I thought she'd win by a landslide. What kind of choice could there be between her (female spirituality, world cooperation, love) and Trump (psychopathia, narcissism, and that moment, the last week of the campaign, in which he stood before his followers and tv viewers,and pretended to jerk off the mike, then blow it..._Are you serious? You mean, there is a choice? His complete contempt for democracy, America, his followers was apparent in that gesture). The vote was between maturity and
Nazifascism, American style. And of course maturity would win.
Each day I awaken to spiritual nausea, and the confusion that the nightmare will dissipate---lbut it doesn't. We're living it. The equivocation of ABC to Trump was probably the most disturbing peekaboo of the future: fear by the Press and Social Media of being bullied by the Orange King and his billionaire minions...
Then I think of Flora, Kashimi, and what I have seen, and I know that the bastards can be pushed back, and buried, and will be, eventually. And that's our daily role, to bury them, while we honor what we've always honored, and make sure we've opened all the doors and windows to the inevitable breath of Spring, which is the sacred feminine.
The whole point of Kamala Harris' campaign was to demonstrate the difference between female spirituality and masculine competition. Harris' inclusivity, compassion, ethical toughness and humor was overwhelming. She also did something I've not seen any other politician do: look another human being in the eyes, directly, and say, "How are you?" and mean it, then listen completely to the response.
In 2016, Hillary Clinton was cast and cast herself in the male model, and was all the more unbelievable, because she promised "the same old shit." When she said, a propos of Ghadaffi, "We came, we saw, he died," I wanted to throw up. I was a Sanders supporter then, and when Bernie saw he wasn't going to win and asked us to support Clinton - the very reason we were supporting him - I looked elsewhere. Jill Stein wasn't on the ticket, in Georgia, so I thought, "I'll vote for that asshole, Trump, because the Republicans will get rid of him within six months." That was my second mistake. The first mistake I made was not to follow my first and principal rule: how many Supreme Court positions are open, in the next administration? Vote Supreme Court. I knew nothing of Trump at that time, except that he was a mediocre clown playing daytime tv against standard Republican fare. I wasn't aware how many daytime tv viewers there were and are in America. I thought he'd lose - or if he won, the weight of the Republican Party would smother him.
In my conversations with my Flora of Botticelli fame, She said, "The last battle will be between the women themselves." She meant, the women who bought the masculine bollocks, as opposed to the women who trusted their own nature and spirituality.
Spiritual women collaborate, they don't compete. There's a marvelous documentary about a world competition for female conductors. The finalists who didn't win decide among themselves to work together, and do concerts together. The terms that the judges used in the competition were clearly male-dominated, including turning the baton into a penis...!
All of my writing has followed the teaching of a muse and the underpinning of civilization - all of which is dominated by a Muse figure. From a pop male misreading of a teenager in SHE LET HIM CONTINUE, to a mysterious dance figure who enlightens a young choreographer in JOOP'S DANCE, to an evisceration of the male competitive urge in PIT BULL, and most recently, in my latest and unpublished novel, KASHIMI, which deals with the next human and hypernatural evolution, with the greater understanding and use of of gravity in our physical and spiritual worlds - through the eyes of a young film-maker, and three extraordinary women. (Later, I was happily surprised to see part of the idea dramatized in the final duet inWICKED - "Defying gravity".) It dramatizes that the next evolutionary leap is the sacred feminine --- all the more obvious with the backsliding Neanderthal bullyboys of Trump and his minions.
My response to Kamala, and what I believe she means politically, I describe in the second half of an essay I'm sending to you - about growing up and believing in The Fireside Book of Folk Songs as the world. I was only six.
My daily nausea is a result of Kamala's defeat at the polls. I thought she'd win by a landslide. What kind of choice could there be between her (female spirituality, world cooperation, love) and Trump (psychopathia, narcissism, and that moment, the last week of the campaign, in which he stood before his followers and tv viewers,and pretended to jerk off the mike, then blow it..._Are you serious? You mean, there is a choice? His complete contempt for democracy, America, his followers was apparent in that gesture). The vote was between maturity and
Nazifascism, American style. And of course maturity would win.
Each day I awaken to spiritual nausea, and the confusion that the nightmare will dissipate---lbut it doesn't. We're living it. The equivocation of ABC to Trump was probably the most disturbing peekaboo of the future: fear by the Press and Social Media of being bullied by the Orange King and his billionaire minions...
Then I think of Flora, Kashimi, and what I have seen, and I know that the bastards can be pushed back, and buried, and will be, eventually. And that's our daily role, to bury them, while we honor what we've always honored, and make sure we've opened all the doors and windows to the inevitable breath of Spring, which is the sacred feminine.