It brings to mind a turning point moment I experienced when observing a colleague in a confrontation with his dog. Phoebe, the white Shepherd, with all her dignity, her love for her master and her awareness of HER ground, was holding in the face of a bully. The tension between them was visible, but more obvious was the stupefying stubbornness of Mike Hayden, obsessed with getting his way and oblivious to the opportunity his selfishness squandered. I watched as Phoebe conducted herself as a gentlewoman in the face of a human male demonstrating incapacity. A professed "dog lover," Hayden was blind to his inability to "play" off Phoebe's strength and courage. His driven determination to impose his will on his equally determined "best Friend" left the pair locked in hopeless stalemate that rapidly progressed to destructive mishap. At stake for Phoebe was her status as "the dog." For Mike, supposedly the human to whom God had given dominion over the animal, it was neither the thought process nor even the process. I understood in that moment, that the Might Makes Right authoritarian was ignorant of methods gentle people employ everywhere, every day to accomplish Win/Win. He routinely degenerated into violent behavior as the result, disqualifying him from a place in my heart. He could be trusted, I recognized, to shove me when he had the opportunity to and would expect, moreover go to great lengths to insure, that I would give him yet another chance to cheat me.
Covey's question: "Why would you go for a deal where they win and you lose?" is the essence of P.U.M.A. and the Just Say, "No Deal!" coalition. Mutually respectful negotiating, mutually beneficial exchanges and demonstrations of good will and easy confidence towards each other is the functional demeanor most Americans, most viable working professionals, have learned is the way to progress.
The Mobster-Big Dawg Wanna Be, deploys brain-locked, trolling, vile trench men confidant of one, basic thing: when Push Comes To Shove, We Observe No Bounds. The "We Shove" Administration employs a combination of insider code and chicken blood Voodoo to represent themselves as innocent while they "Play" the observers, via the complicit mainstream, equally abusive media... It's calculated, but no less the suicide choice of bullies who don't know a better way, and who have no working understanding of the better world in which those of us who are scandalized by such obstinacy, choose to live.
We all become increasingly more socialized as we enter new circles, and we find the Angels, the Exchange Tables that invest us with the Best Practices insight acquired via the day-after-day of getting the critical JOB done and the product out the door and into the systems of those with whom we exchange goods and services.
Organized Crime is not Good Business, It is not even the purview of legitimacy in Administration. In fact, it should be the responsibility of the Administration to recognize and transcend the Mob Mentality. Yet, in order to maintain their half-legitimate, half-larcenous occupancy of the Oval Office, the line must be kept close enough to straddle when the services of the Fourth Estate is required to hood their lying eyes. The Mob has fostered its equal opposition, and that is where Obama finds himself.
In retrospect, we see that the citizens characterized as crazy mobs such as the Tea Parties and Town Hall participants, were, in fact the true Higher Powers in this conflict. The presentation by the President of Mobster tactics, such as his "brush off" of Hillary Clinton before a backdrop of supporters and back-up of staging artists, and the unconscionable threats to a demonstrably fearless Eric Cantor clearly flag the realism that Obama has entered uncharted territory and hasn't the tools to navigate effectively. He fed off Hillary Clinton throughout the 2008 Primaries as the Voting Public responded, intent on keeping the See/Saw equally balanced while the quest for the nomination "played" out. The distinction I make between Obama and the Republicans is this: They've been there, done that and WON while Obama & Company have pushed and shoved themselves into this confrontation for Change with no earthly idea of exactly what it was they were "taking over."
In the Democratic Party, we have some truly gentle Women, Ladies who have lived the Talk and Walk of the Angels at the Exchange. Colleagues who have comforted and supported one another through all the encounters with corporate politics that have pushed them back, down and under. Our contribution has been dismissed by a racist combine of Oprah, Donna, Whoopie and the Black Caucus. To suggest that these people were anything but cheaters, thugs and muggers is to ignore their own racist abuse of trust. I remained in the Democratic Party after the gender equity provisions were enacted. Women moved beyond the traditional roles of secretaries and auxiliaries into areas where their services were in demand. Men who elected to become Weather Men rather than employ the scientifically evolved, proven methods of the Androgene, revealed to us an entire universe of System Gamers playing under the radar to displace and disgrace competitive females with - not legitimate underground resistance, but with overtly criminal underworld intrigue.
Trojan Horse got nuthin' on those who occupy positions of movement, exchange and cross/over between legitimate and criminal. A line that the legitimate know and observe can be readily blurred by the testosterone-driven pressure imposed when less-than-competitive men are unable to embrace a challenge with which they are confronted. Faith is a Factor. Sure, guys, hope for the best, but when Push Comes To Shove, the Bill Ayers types blew up their girlfriends playing at bomb-building and blew up the Democratic Convention of 1968 http://www.google.com/search?q=democratic+convention+of+1968&hl=en&rlz=1T4TSND_en___US410&prmd=ivns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=BDggTo3OGPGy0AG9h6DdAw&ved=0CC0QsAQ&biw=1366&bih=553 playing at social change while Martin Luther King was leading a Non-Violent Revolution among the legitimate. The Faces and the Fortunes that profited from the shoving left all of us devastated as they skated into cult status, freedom from American Justice and a squalid, sperm-spewing persuit of attention-craving sluts denied their own eye to eye exchange with their Fathers. Dreams is Obama's Odyssey through history, but one he neither shares with Americans nor would choose for himself. And yet we allowed this sordid gang of savages to wreak havoc with our contained chaos. What these "actors" have proven repeatedly, is that there are survivors among us who continue to glean intelligence from each encounter with them.
Like the Weather, these confronting forces must be managed by ranging, exchanging Angels of the Better Way. While they prod, press and test each other, intent upon uncovering weakness, we step to the Better Place, the Alternative Universe where Win/Win Calls the Tune, and there we enjoy our lives, ignoring, but not ignorant of, these less distinguished "Accidents In Progress."
In his book, Goldberg discusses the "Blinded By Love" infidelity of the main stream media. He ridicules and rightly questions the integrity of any press pass bearer so uninitiated to the profession as to be chemically affected by animal magnetism without a reasoned, seasoned objective view of their own LACK of objectivity. It is clear to a reasoning woman that the "Inspiring" speeches delivered by the marauding campaign of destruction was a "natural occurrence" of a declining civilization that had managed to replace all its top-performing leaders with half/legitimate, half/underworld secret-keepers poised to deliver the "shove" at the opportune moment. Oprah did it. James Clyburne did it. Bob Casey did it. Even Tina Brown did it. So Women, in the tradition of Princess Diana, learn by being disappointed, to find their friends.
I dedicate my June-to-September development to working with this gentle, mutually respectful energy. The Blessed Mother reaches through the affront on my dignity as a woman and a professional bound by my ethics and produced by my own willingness to try, err and correct course. In moments of doubt, I am learning to control my emotions and accept that the Study Group, the Team, the larger community of which I am a part, has a great, workable plan that already performs predictably on numerous platforms. A quiet touch calls my attention from the chest-thumping, saber-rattling barbarians posing as leaders to the delightful antics of yellow finches calling to me along with the cardinals and chickadees. They carry a message, a song, a tune, to which all the universe might dance if that is the choice.
When you lose your arms for reaching, Victory, sprout wings,
Anonymous
I know the decision to dump this crowd had been made and it is resolved to replace them immediately. The confusion arises from the parallel run of both systems in transitional exchange. There will be "push" to be sure, but there is nothing against which to "push back." The "Push Preparing To Shove" is battling an illusion devised of a screen of pressure-induced blindness. In the amputee wards of Walter Reed Hospital, the take-away moves and the scan-ahead techniques are honed in retrospect. For those of us who have "lost" our legs, we foster no frustration with what could have been. We have no argument with the Judge. We see only the security of our comrades, our sisters and brothers in the march to contained crazy, the mutually accepting, forgiving, "there but for the grace of God" understanding of how we arrived at this moment in which we respectfully get as good as we give. My conscience is clear. I have given my best. I have fallen, to be certain, but have never despaired as the hand of my Mother has been there when I have reached. I hear her Voice of Reason, her vibe that fosters a change in the molecular movement in my bones to tune out the din of the advancing Putch, and just leave those marbles of mine which they covet, to them. My Mother calls me - not to a "game" - but to a zone, where I have been before. In the zone, I am managed, steered and supported to perform at my best. My obstacles are converted into partners, my would-be assassins recognize in our EYE TO EYE that their survival is tied to mine. In the zone, the words that communicate have neither context nor intonation. The BEST come together, not by choice nor partisan, power consideration, but by VIBE. A tuning fork responds, the tone is re-enforced, and the pettiness, error-proneness, even the self-interest is displaced by the order of it. We SEE. And as we do, the quandary of whom to choose or which way to go is resolved. We shake off the illusion of mystery and act in compliance with all we have always understood to be timeless, universal and consistent.
We grieve with the parents of Leiby Kletzky and recognize the vibe of his murderer, to whom the innocent child was exposed. We could not help but connect his fate to that of the Amish girls in their Lancaster County School room, methodically killed by a half/believing, half/deceiving manipulator of trust. In the Garden, we marvel that certain weeds take on the appearance of the legitimate plants beside which they spring. How is it that weeds whose growing "habit" mimics those of a lily, or a holly-hock, or a foxglove can just materialize in the ground we give to those plants we have chosen, purchased and "husbanded?" As good gardeners, we know them to be weeds, unproductive and likely to inhibit and ultimately strangle our chosen specimens by consuming communal resources disproportionately. So we pull weeds. We stay on it and survey our garden day by day, both to enjoy the fruits of our labors, and to remove threats to the stability and integrity of that which we are growing. When we must move a good but intrusive variety, we do so with the understanding of its nature, it's INVASIVE nature whereby it virtually takes over any fertile space and eliminates or overgrows everything good that was there. Enough is Enough, Had Enough, ... Enough Already, are all phrases that rival, "Time to eat your peas." and yet I know many, many peas-rejecting kids who were denied quality play time by intransigent parents who gave them no alternative but to remain at the table after the family had left, to stare at affronting texture and taste until the revulsion towards the vegetable was indistinguishable from the unreasoned demand of an inflexible parent. I like fresh or fresh-frozen baby peas. I don't blame anyone who has been forced to down mushy, pasty, past-their-prime green beads of insult to the taste buds, for now equating Obama's Goon Squad-endorsed negotiating style with a vivid negative childhood memory. He's locked into yet another demographic, finally able to line up the elements in order, according to their weight, and recognize the Weed in the Rose Garden.
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