10 days to prevent war against Iran

I don't want to look at the headlines: Bush gives Iran until the 29th - my fuckin' birthday - to 'comply' – Iran is “Iraq on the fast track” - no one around me is talking about this. I’m hanging out at the neighborhood coffee shop – I hear talk of the world cup, work, weather – but no talk of Iraq or Iran. No talk of the headlines today.

What can I do? What can I do? Could this be hell? Living on this earth, feeling the torment, witnessing the destruction, knowing the horrific annihilation of living beings, caring so deeply about the mother earth & all her creations: yet feeling so very powerless to stop the madness.

And not powerless because I don’t know what to do: but powerless because I don’t know how to motivate others whom we need to help stop this madness.

My hair is very long now on one side, probably longer than it’s been since I’ve been a teenager. I want to chop it off. I won’t. I can’t believe people won’t step up to the plate in masses.

Of course, Denmark is collecting a real seed bank – I can breathe a little easier. As soon as these wars are over, I’m heading out. I want to walk around the world carrying real seeds with me to handout to folks – and to collect. Now I have a place to send the seeds I find.

Before the second election, I knew that we were at another one of those defining moments of truth in our nation: are we a nation that tolerates lies & the concept of “pre-emptive” war or are we truly good, well-intentioned, caring human beings occupying this land.

I remember a conversation I had many months back with an older white man who disagreed with me about Iraq. Towards the end of our conversation, which was very congenial considering we were at opposite ends of the spectrum, he asked me if I believed that most Americans were ‘good’ people.

I knew he was searching for a nice common ground to part ways with me. He liked me; he enjoyed our conversation; he didn’t often speak with women about politics.

This was before our second election. I wanted to scream “yes, americans are good people”. Not as much for him & for a pleasant end to our connection, but for me. I want to believe we are a good people.

As I hesitated, scenes of murdered indigenous people, enslaved people, burned to a crisp people, bombed, tortured, and raped people sped across that internal tv that plays constantly in some corner of my brain.

I had to tell him americans are a greedy people.

And now we’re off to conquer Iran, maybe North Korea…. for???