“Let no man pull you so low as to hate him.”
Martin Luther King
Or to become what you purportedly hate about them.
I will be out of pocket much of today, sitting in waiting rooms for the usual healthcare testing things. Sometimes the tests are far enough apart. But at other times they come in flurries as the interpretation of the results demands it.
Just as a reminder, my wife has a rare form of cancer that has been showing up here and there. There is no way to cure it, but the thing is to manage it as best as one can. And so we have been doing for the past five or six years now, with the usual ups and downs.
As I told her when we received the initial diagnosis, which was a bit shocking considering her otherwise perfect health and habits, that 'this is our life now, and I will be with you every step of the way.'
Consequently there will be no chart updates tonight, although I am reading mails and posting links.
Trump sent the dollar reeling with some interview comments, and the metals responded.
Economics, journalism, and politics are among the 'disgraced professions' that resent their bad reputations these days. It seems that when things start going really wrong, the 'professions' always seem to be playing a key role. And as the locus of the conscience and voice of society, that is quite understandable.
The solution is really quite simple— stop lying for and disgracing yourselves in the service of power and money, and access and credentialism, in a system which you know to be unjust and rotten, but personally rewarding and convenient. Stop appointing yourselves as the moral judge, able to give yourselves a pass on the same types of behaviours that you claim to despise.
Once you throw away the moral high ground, and start acting like 'the other guys' with the usual 'what is truth' and 'I can act dishonestly because my cause is so important' arguments, you have lost.
It is just a matter then, not of the fate of meaningful reform, but of the specific identities of the abusers.
See you tomorrow.
Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delight.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
John Burroughs
