The end of our 20th Century and the beginning of the 21st found me living in intentional community in Oregon. There, amongst socially responsible, if not cutting-edge innovators in sustainable living, I found myself having to deal with my very own incredible lack of Concern about things going on in the higher world around me. For five years, while living at a centre of activism, I let the world look after itself, and continue to do so today. Some call that apathy. It started with this impending nationwide glitch called Y2K. While so many of the people around me were stockpiling food and water and building networks of cooperation, not to mention paranoia, I went about the company of running the community's conference center. Did I concern myself about the impending threat and rally using them? Not really a whit. Around the same time, the WTO Seattle protests found busloads of my friends traveling about 150 miles to get suppressed by the Police State, and I didn't blink. Then, some guy named Gore did blink in a showdown with a man named Bush, and it was all a big Ho-hum, business-as-usual thing to me. Shortly thereafter, the World Trade Center got slammed, and, obviously, in the beginning appalled, inside a short time period I came to the conclusion that the bigwigs were utilising the whole mess to create something up for something that I wasn't in the know enough to know, aside from affect. Sure enough, the Iraq war (?) sprung from those loins and then occupation came and continues, and, outside a cursory wonderment, I have no cry of outrage in me. These are issues that happen like a great many other items that happen throughout the world that I choose never to concern myself with anymore. The list seems endless. Yet, apathy is really a pretty strong word to make use of to describe myself. How then, knowing that my life is approximately activism, could I live with my apathy? The entire world I was born into was in the grip of forces that have been beyond my reach. At a decade old, the Cuban Missile Crisis occurred. Daily, for weeks on end, we'd "duck and cover," practicing how to guard ourselves (!) in the case of nuclear attack. Once weekly we'd have what I'd call "Hellfire Drills" where we'd be directed to silently file on to our concrete bunker-like basement and await an all-clear signal, which, dependant on the sadism factor of the nuns that day, would come quickly or excruciatingly slowly. Every day for a long time, the noon air-raid sirens wailed and the air regularly blared out an ominous tone, followed, at its cessation, by the message, "The foregoing was an examination!" I'd have waves of apprehension commencing when I'd hear an airplane overhead. The data, drilled into my bones, was that death would come from above. It doesn't matter that with each report of danger there is an associated report of how our "resolve" would save the afternoon, death was on its way. Period. I fully expected the stress between Russia and my very own country to explode in everyone's face, much as I had been witness to countless explosions between my very own parents. By enough time I was six I determined that adults, all together, were out of the minds and did not need the love included to avoid destroying everything within my world, from top to bottom. In my home, Mother was poised to go berserk at any moment. At school, the Nuns laid in watch for me to do anything wrong being an excuse to whack the pointer on my butt. And then, in the headlines, Nikita Khrushchev armed with God-knows just how many nuclear warheads was looking for any excuse to obliterate my neighborhood, which happened to stay Brooklyn, close enough to Manhattan for horseshoes RAVPower FileHub AC750 Review. When I was in my thirties, I started to actually delve into my childhood experiences. The word that kept coming up for me was Grief. It absolutely was personal grief, needless to say, but on the bigger scale, grief about residing in a full world of moment-to-moment uncertainty. I really wasn't gonna get to see a lot in my life because the USSR was out to get us and we were ready to retaliate unto total annihilation. History had brought us to where we were so well-armed so it was only a matter of time before we eradicated everything. I was convinced we truly were a test that failed. As a child I was asked to make a decision that a lot of people don't face until they're adults. I'd undoubtedly that the planet would end, though I didn't know when. So the central question of my life became, "How am I going to achieve this thing called life between now and when?
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