It is done. The 800-year Bush Dark Age. As Howard Cosell said, 'IT'S OVAH! IT'S ALL OVAH!'
Now the tough part: how to heal.
I'm hearing lots of voices on the Net, saying that Obama's just the same as BushCorp and that he's already slipping into predictably sleazy behavior. Well, about an hour ago he just became president. (Never mind that Plain John 'Android' Roberts mucked up the oath; puppets are rarely ready for Prime Time...) My default is to give the man a chance.
Why not be suspicious? Because I am weary of the conditioning which the Bush Dark Age has inculcated us with. In other words, we have been forced to inflict our own thoughts, our own minds, with the hideous rot spawned by BushCorp and its Neocon interests. When sociopaths are in power, they produce strains of subtle and insidious thoughts, notions, and opinions that, when ingested, retard and pervert even healthily critical-thinking minds. Propaganda has a way of doing that. It's great to be feisty and skeptical, but when the show runs on and on, and the task looms daunting and never-ending, the resistance erodes and the depression takes over. That's what a Dark Age is.
But, on this day, a Dark Age has just officially ended. It really has.
How then, to negotiate this historical fact and embrace it? How can we mature with it?
These are the inner questions which we must ask ourselves, again and again.
I shall of course remain wary, and ready to leap into critique mode When and If. But for the present, if only for a day, the liberated mind cries: Peace! Restoration! A saner path has been opened! An end now to suppression! An end to insanity! An end to fascist manipulation!
Better a flawed nation with sincere intent than a false and dangerous empire. History has not ended, as was the Neocon dream. We are still its subjects, and we'd better restore our wisdom from its lessons if we intend on navigating the future. Obama's address touched on this and other issues. Purposeful words they are, and hopefully, not just words.
In short, I would rather now regenerate as a somewhat hopeful naif than remain in the toxic mud puddle of dreary expectations that, when chosen, cement the mind with their fastness.