Like you, I’ve often asked myself why is it that talking to a Trump supporter is like talking to a stone? It took a while until I realized it is all a matter of their pride.
For the most part Trump supporters have been taken by a master manipulator — an A-1 conman, and most of them simply refuse to admit they were, and are, still wrong.
During the election Republican friends assured me the leaders of the GOP would be able to control their-man-Trump. Additionally, they laughed and asked me how much damage could he possibly do anyhow?
How much indeed; however, those statements helped me understand that Trump supporters knew exactly the kind of man their candidate was and what kind of president he would be.
His supporters knew this man would dismantle most of what had been accomplished in previous administrations and from both sides of the aisle — in fact, that was their mandate. What they didn’t know, and still don’t understand, is how the ensuing upheaval can and will adversely affect them personally; perhaps they believe they are immune.
Until Trump supporters admit their mistake and demand redress, this country will grow weaker in the opinion of our enemies, and irrelevant in the eyes of its own citizens, who can’t see through the fog of lies and the covers of scandals, the headlines of treason and felony, all highlighted by lavish living at the expense of the taxpayer.
One thing I know for sure: It is not the strength of a political leader and the military he/she commands that makes a country great, but the clear vision of its free and strong citizens.
It is not just the incredible sight of fish flying, Trish.
It’s the scent of the sea,
the colors of flimsy clouds and
sun glistening on cresting waves.
Best of all is to hear the splashing
of fish leaping from the water,
fly skyward and fall
into the rhythm of the tide.
When flying fish play,
you remember joy
As if it were forever lost.
Love is ___ and should always remain undefined.
Capture it, frame it, put it in a memory
box and it slips away, like a child riding rainbows,
playing hide and seek.
After the rain lets go ride some rainbows,
through the clouds, and across the skies.
tickling tree tops as we ride;
we’ll find love where it hides.
I never learned about this in primary school, high school, college or university.
Somehow I must have missed the commemorative stories in the media, the laying of wreaths and the flowery, pious speeches of sorrow and shame.
Where are the memories, the diaries, the dedications, movies and documentaries? How is it that in this country I alone have remained ignorant?
Is it too late to weep and mourn — to write eulogies and beg forgiveness?
No, it is never too late to become aware, pray and weep. Although I never knew, I know it now.
I will share what I have learned.
So, we light a candle and pass it forward. Like most beginnings, it is not enough, but maybe it will grow.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia