Reason to believe

Many have been honoring the 80th anniversary of D-Day. Others have been receiving unwelcome recognition such as: UN adds Israel to list of states committing violations against children. Kind of makes it difficult to believe that D-Day was the beginning of the end of the Holocaust.

But then, back in my growing up days, when things seemed less complicated, there was a folk singer named Tim Hardin who wrote a number of songs, including one titled Reason to Believe. For the past several years I’ve been haunted by how well his lyrics fit not just personal relationships, but politics, nation-states, neoliberal corporatism, and other aspects of contemporary life. We have become the product corporations and governments are selling to each other, and I don’t want more reasons to believe that. Misinformation and disinformation make it increasingly difficult to believe there is such a thing as truth and facts that are recognized and accepted by humans.

In one of my all-time favorite novels, Dune, the Bene Gesserit "made extensive use of the Gom Jabbar, especially when they tested the humanity of certain individuals.” Perhaps we need politicians willing to submit to such a test as part of their qualifications for office. After all, we don’t want to allow those less than human to be elected to represent US, do we? Or, perhaps and?, we could develop and use a

Truth Serum

By Naomi Shihab Nye

We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.

Pinched a scent of night jasmine billowing off the fence,   

popped it right in.

That frog song wanting nothing but echo?   

We used that.

Stirred it widely. Noticed the clouds while stirring.

Called upon our ancient great aunts and their long slow eyes   

of summer. Dropped in their names.   

Added a mint leaf now and then   

to hearten the broth. Added a note of cheer and worry.   

Orange butterfly between the claps of thunder?   

Perfect. And once we had it,

had smelled and tasted the fragrant syrup,   

placing the pan on a back burner for keeping,   

the sorrow lifted in small ways.

We boiled down the lies in another pan till they disappeared.

We washed that pan.

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