October 24, 2022
The soul becomes dyed
by the color of its thoughts.
Marcus Aurelius
As the mid-term elections approach, the tension is palpable. The political discourse is disgusting and the airwaves are filled with the dark murky substance that now passes for news. While I care deeply about the state of this nation and the world, I have to step back 
and choose a different color for my consciousness. My sanity demands it. My soul demands it.
Fifty years ago I was pursuing a university degree in radio and television. Those were the days of Walter Cronkite, Chet Huntley, and David Brinkley when the news was delivered without emotional or political bias. They were icons of journalistic integrity. There was no such thing as Faux News.
That academic trajectory didn’t last. As a woman I was told the career options would be limited. We women were deemed too fragile to carry a large camera. And the passion of the social justice and antiwar movements that were sweeping college campuses was more compelling. I’m so grateful for that shift. I can’t imagine a career in the black morass that is currently the world of journalism. At least in this country. I did see a headline this morning that a BBC commentator was pulled from the air for being too excited about Boris Johnson withdrawing from consideration for Prime Minister. She was pulled for a potential breach of impartiality. That was refreshing to read. But now I’m only reading the headlines and those only briefly. I choose not to go deeper into that murky darkness.
So I am again choosing a different color to dye my soul. Sigh. I’ve been here before. A different palette of colors. Colors of hope and possibility. Colors of love and compassion. Colors of joy and laughter. And I’m reminded of Beannacht, the piece John O’Donohue wrote for is mother.
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
In this time of the deadening weight of turmoil and conflict, when the loss of hope seems a spectre on the horizon, may we choose a different palette for our souls. May we find a meadow of delight. It is those colors that will sustain us. It is in those colors we will find hope.
Beannacht,
Judith
I agree, we need colors that aren’t political. Thank goodness the leaves are turning (fall came late here). My first degree is in Communication, and I used to watch Frank Reynolds and Max Robinson for inspiration. The poem by O’Donohue is grand. Thanks for sharing it. Breathe slowly, friend, the elections will be over and then we’ll deal with that, who knows, maybe happily.
Ah, dear man. You are salve for the soul. Thank you. Maybe happily….I do hold hope.
I’m not surprised that your first degree is in Communication. I actually got a double major, one in Communication, because by the time the social justice movements carried me away I already had the requisite credits. And had spent many hours in the classrooms of the Edward R. Murrow building on the WSU campus. He actually studied there at one time. He was another great.
And so are you. I do read all of what you post. I don’t always comment but I appreciate it all. Brilliant!