A sad political commentary

I had to go to Kingston to photograph a bank a few days ago; I caught this dazed and bemused couple standing at a gas station on the way back. They look a bit like I feel right now when I have to pay $4.21 a gallon at the pump: sad, appalled, skeptical, thinking of hitchhiking, resigned... It's that helpless feeling you get when you realize that even with the primaries over we still have MANY more months under the current administration.

I got an email today with a statement from Jay Leno about what whiners we Americans are: we have so much, and the rest of the world has so little; why are we complaining about our current president when life is so good?

I got very discouraged reading that note; felt, again, like the people in this picture. Yeah, sure, we have more than we could ever need, and certainly more than so many other nations in the world. Is that supposed to make it better? So what if I can actually AFFORD to pay $4.21 a gallon and could even keep driving as much as I used to have to drive before my daughter got her license; does that make it better?

I don't think so. Because my objection to this administration is not about the quality of my life. It's about the quality of my grandchildren's lives -- those grandchildren who aren't even born yet, the ones who may not have food because the bees are dying; the ones whose inherited home may be underwater because of global warming; the ones who may not be able to breathe; the ones who will have forgotten how to knit -- if they ever learned -- because it's so hot no one wears sweaters anymore.

It's about the quality of life in places like Iraq, and Afghanistan, and Darfur, and New Orleans, and all the other places that have been damaged by "things done and left undone."

I'm sorry. I try not to go political here; to stay within the scope of contemplative spirituality. But I looked at these faces, and it just felt that they were contemplating, too, and just couldn't like what they saw. I think these are the faces of ordinary people, and I think these are faces capable -- as we all are -- of wisdom and compassion.

I think these eyes are seeing what we see, and feeling what we feel, and knowing what we know; I think it saddens them, and they feel helpless.

But what do I know. I'm not the artist; I'm just the photographer. And obviously I am projecting. There is, after all, something of the artist/photographer in everything she shoots.