Inspired Depression

The term "inspired depression" might be an oxymoron, but I experienced this state today for the first time after binge-watching The Putin Interviews by Oliver Stone.

To the uninformed and unsuspecting, one might fall in love with Vladimir Putin after watching him skillfully navigate four hours of Q&A. Not only did he exhibit a high degree of intelligence and knowledge, but his seemingly reasonable and rational approach to geo-politics certainly contradicts the narrative going on in the USA. One might develop sympathy for the Russian leader for having to endure the aggressive and bad faith actions of the USA over the past few decades when the Cold War was supposedly over. His narrative was not at odds with my own analysis of the American brand of Imperialism and hypocrisy.

One problem, however, is that something in him appeared as the trickster, one who has mastered the art of trickery. Tricks are by nature deceptive and cause the trickee to fall for the con-illusion. Only in the last hour segment did an element of fear creep into my heart. This is a man who cajoles with an ethnic, folksy wisdom coupled with a laser intellect and savoir faire most unusual, yet this a man who gets even...with avengence.

Despite the admiration that had been brewing in my heart for the first three segments of The Putin Interviews, in the end I was left with that "inspired depression" feeling.

No one's hands are clean - neither the USA or Russia. There is reason and right on both sides. The truth for one is not the truth for the other although the two super-powers talk of peace and global unity in the same oratorical sweep.

Where did the mutual mistrust and suspicion start? Who is telling the truth? Who is defending and who is retaliating? Whose heart is in the right place - when an awful global conflict is brewing again? Who will lay down the sword first and out-stretch a hand? And will that hand be severed in a ploy or will it be truly welcomed?

I, for one, could not untangle the web of illusion Oliver Stone laid out for us in the grand halls of the Kremlin. Nor can I untangle the strangling cords of the American Congress, that seems to have been cast adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Turning to meditation, prayer and faith is a great idea...but don't forget to watch your back.

Big Shit, Little Shit

My son walked in the house the other day with an unexpected remark: "There's a pterodactyl flying around in Port Hueme," the beach community where he is vacationing.

A giant, dragon-like prehistoric bird flew over my head like a jet fighter - in my mind's eye. Observing my quizzical look, Kripa lead me outside and pointed to his car's rear window that was covered with what looked like a bucket of white slime. Big bird had bulls-eyed his vehicle, along with other medium sized birds that left brown poop stains dripping down various car body parts.

Fast forward to an evening of leisure contemplation on the side terrace of my house, where plumes of delicate pink flowers grace a vine clinging to the wall. It is an area frequented by hummingbirds and for good reason. Their delicate little beaks fit perfectly into the tubular, succulent center of the petals.

On this fair night, a hummingbird enroute to the flower restaurant dropped his own bird slime midair...an emission so small that it looked like a tiny droplet of water that left nary a trace on the flagstone terrace below.

Shit may be shit, but the bigger the amount that gets dumped, the bigger the mess. This obvious fact does have relevance in our day to day lives. The amount of mess-ups in life are in direct proportion to the size of self-centered egos. The bigger the tale we spin that creates an "us" versus "them" situation, the bigger the scope of conflict, misery and malfeasance.

For those who don't want to shit on others or Mother Earth, it would be well to downsize the ego and light up the god-self. In that evolution of consciousness, what we leave in our wake would remain pristine.

The Foxiest Fox in the Skulk

The prize for best diplomatic chess player goes to Vladimir Putin, the foxiest fox in the skulk. Yes, in part the term "foxy" might connote physical attractiveness, which is true, especially when he appears in full hockey regalia (although he does show tell-tale signs of aging with an emerging sagginess of skin around the jawline). Yet, foxiest in this vernacular also connotes "most slippery" in achieving his goals.

He pulled off a magnificently malevolent comment this week. He said that hackers are like artists, creative beings who, like painters, might wake up in the morning so happy that they are inspired to paint - or hack. He posited that their motive would be fueled by patriotism to Mother Russia.

Herein lies his brilliant manipulation. Perhaps he knows that American intelligence has ironclad proof of Russian state-sponsored meddling in the presidential elections via internet hacking. Perhaps he thinks its time to get even more subtle in his subterfuge to make him smell more sweetly on the global stage.

What could be better for one of those state-educated Russians idylling in a drab apartment than to be flattered for their artistry, compared to a fine artist. No longer a computer nerd, the hacker is now elevated to a status the likes of Plutenko by the President himself.

The coup de grace is the connotation that such illegal acts are in fact patriotic to the Motherland. No worries that these fine hackers will need a poison taster anytime soon.