Books for Everyone!

Mid-January 2021

Bubble Wrap

Last week, I experienced a very intriguing dream. It is difficult to determine just when a nocturnal dream occurs, but, whenever it spun its way through my sleeping mind, this one was wonderfully vivid, in color and in sound.

In this dream, My Dear Daughter, as is her whimsical but merry wont, was assessing the clothes in my closet. She pulled out two tops in particular and asked why I still owned those items.

“They’re from Anthro,” I explained.

“It does not mean they are worth keeping.”

In my defense, I stated: “I have been wrapped in bubble wrap for the past 4 years, so I still need to sort through those things.”

It was at that point that I awoke. I’ve thought about that dream during the past day or two, trying to decipher the obvious meaning, to perhaps get to a more layered interpretation of being wrapped in bubble wrap. But there are no subtle symbolic strata of significance, nuance, or sense to that dream imagery. The obvious here is pretty much the obvious:

I, and my life, have been wrapped up in bubble-wrap during the previous 4 years. It is time for me to leave the protective shroud and . . .

That part of the message remained unclear to me.

Sometimes a person can believe she has been seeking new directions, but not really perceive that those directions are not new. New places and new faces do not necessarily equate to uncharted courses. In fact, I’ve known people who routinely, almost religiously, travel to new places, and see new faces; but they invariably experience those things in the exact same way as they did during the previous trip that was undertaken as a way to avoid true change.

The key to living with a genuine passion for life is to see old things with new eyes, not to see new things with old eyes.

Until November 2016, the American economy had been mothballed for the better part of a decade. When all of those billions of dollars came off of the protective-sidelines during the past four years, I bubble-wrapped my life, my possessions and my self — ostensibly for the purpose of moving from house-to-house as my Dream House was constructed. An instinctive part of me, however, needed to seek solace from within, as the world outside of me began to coalesce toward the future, toward my future, toward America’s future.

For decades, the nation known as America had treaded water, unable, or unwilling, to make the bold changes toward moving forward — to a new century, to a new American century. Those changes are currently underway, in ways that are mysterious and yet predictable. The lies of the ossified political class have been found out by too many red-blooded Americans. A true-blue national hero, a Man of Destiny, came to the fore. He was, and is, for this writer, a profound source of inspiration that I’d not experienced for decades.

The truth of the American future does not reside within her Leader. That truth is what moved that Leader to the fore, to the future, but that truth is the People of America. That leader is with the people; the people are not with him. The day that a trusted leader turns his back on the truth that is the American people, is the day the he stops being a leader.

Many years ago, I campaigned for a California politician, a very successful Attorney General who had a run at the Governorship, and lost. Having met him, I will state that he was not a nice person. He was, in fact, a cold fish. He was condescending and did not have time to even acknowledge me, a Housewife with 2 Children in Tow.

My words in parting to him were:

“A politician does not lead the people; the people lead him. All a politician ever does is follow where the people are going, rush to get ahead of them, and pretend that he led them there.”

“Very interesting,” Mr. Cold Fish stated.

The current climate of the putrid political landscape in America does not abide a leader for long. Politicos, by the smelly-bunch, yes; but a real Leader terrifies the sycophants and fonctionnaires and boot-liking bureaucrats. During the past four-five years, I have watched the frontal-assault onslaught of odious desperadoes, throwing themselves, like the French poilus in 1914, onto the field of battle, le champ de bataille, of the political landscape — along with sneakily financed stink-bombs — in an attempt to cling to power that they lost many years ago.

The French poilus were fighting to save their country, not destroy it. This Great Mutilation has been a horrific sight. Those traitors have mutilated only themselves.

Somehow, though, perhaps through the miracle and the mystery that compose the hand of God; or through the convergence of fate and the stars and love and luck, the Leader rises to his fullest height. And we, the brave who face the truth, we permit the Leader to join us. There is a chemistry to it, an act of physics, a force of nature.

Together, the Leader and the élan vital that is the future of a nation, move forward, ever-onward, much like the ocean wave that must attain the shore. There are certain events in life, in one’s life, that cannot be explained, only lived. We are at that point in time, in the life of America. We are at that mark in destiny. The energy that impels the wave of water onto the sands of the littoral — that energy is a divine movement that cannot be impeded, or blocked, or even slowed.

When a man loves a woman, when a woman loves a child, when a patriot loves his country, when a country loves its leader — that power of passion is the rising and advancing tide that cannot be denied. When I was child, experiencing my first forays into the Atlantic Ocean, I told myself, “Never turn your back to a wave.”

I then was able to ride those waves, all the way onto the shore. It was a thrilling, exhilarating experience! And once I saw the movie, Jaws, I never went body-surfing again!

You see what fear will do to you?

That fear was likely not irrational. I decided to pursue the art of being a shark in life, albeit a small one. (Although, truthfully, I was advised by one male that I am much more a barracuda.)

Taking the bubble wrap away from my life will permit me to trust in life without the protective layer of whatever it was I’d counted on for a sense of security. Security had been nearly non-existent during my childhood; I therefore erected goal-posts onto which to anchor my cherished certainty at various stages of my life. Those goal-posts, initially, permitted me to acquire some belief in life without fear, life without loss, life without wrongs.

In time, however, those goal-posts became impediments to an infinite faith in life that prevails over fear, and senses abundance because of the loss, and counts the rights much more the wrongs. Because life is so often uncertain, and, yet, because of the uncertainty, we can arrive at what is truly assured, and sure:

good triumphs over evil

evil cannot escape justice

justice is the Lord’s

in every ending, a beginning.

There are a few synthetic garments in my closet that I must remove from my life now, along with that bubble-wrap. Somehow, my faith in natural fibers, and in the natural order of life, and in being close to nature — any real nature — just got a whole lot stronger.