The profane president

Everyone groans, but it’s true, the president is profane from his head—such as it is—to his toes. All of it profane, the use of power, or the profane use of religion. But then, religion has always been the driving force of power, masquerading as something other than what it is. Take one vast oil field and multiply it by the altars of Maman. 

We sit within the inner circle of oil refineries that have turned the largest profit ever, making more money in one year than the world’s total debt. Today I caught myself thinking at the gas pump that $2.75 was a pretty good price. When did that shift in thinking occur? When did I get used to thinking it was a good price? When did I begin to accept the inevitable ogliarchy of my government, though I protest. But I feel so helpless, unempowered, hunkering down to outwait the inevitable. This, too shall pass. 

But the meek have not, and will not inherit the earth, ever. Unless they’re willing to accept drown continents as they’re just desert deserts. 

I watch the news footage of vast sheets of glacial ice the size of small countries calving off into the ocean. Flying over Iceland and Greenland, I was mesmerized by the flotilla of icebergs, like unseasonable cherry blossoms strewn on the pavement at Paisley Abbey, midwinter. The church bells, a death knell for the earth.

2/9/2007 Writers’Group