I have been writing an occasional blog called Welcome to the Goat Rodeo on Wordpress for a few years. It can be found at welcometothegoatrodeo.com. I started out writing for a couple reasons. One was to exorcise demons that can creep in and take up residence inside me after some of the terrible things I am exposed to during my work as an ER nurse. Kind of a way to get things off my chest and be rid of them through speaking about them. Another was to share some of the humor (twisted as it may be) that I encounter in my work. Another was to speak about life in general, especially some of the sweet moments that readers would be likely to connect with. The love of a parent for his child.
I haven’t posted on anything close to a regular basis. During the Pandemic era I have had so much to say, but have hardly posted anything. For one thing my experiences and views on the Pandemic response run about 180 degrees in opposition to the way public health authorities, the medical establishment and the mainstream media have bulldozed the public. I admit I have severely self-censored my speech. It wasn’t until very recently that I put anything out that pushed back in any way. I had been concerned that my audience, which is quite small and mostly consists of family, close friends and work colleagues, would turn on me. Worse I feared I might lose my job for publishing views that are resolutely contradictory to what I am expected to say on the job. I am the primary breadwinner for a family of five and cannot afford to be unemployed.
Another impediment to my writing was the doldrums I was cast into when my family lost our home in the Santa Cruz Mountains Wildfires in August of 2020. We had built it ourselves and were there for fifteen years. I have never had the wind knocked out of me like that. Couple that with the CV-19 BS, add the abrupt loss of a beloved workmate under awful circumstances and I can easily see why I was so deflated. There was a lot to say. I just didn’t have the energy or mental focus to say it. And I lacked the courage to speak out.
Most of the best writing I have been following of late has been coming out of Substack. I have started to find my voice again and the last three posts on Welcome to the Goat Rodeo have been voicing my viewpoint in opposition to the pandemic response. That is the direction I feel like I need to go with my writing. So that’s why I’m here now. I feel like a different venue may help me kickstart my telling a different story.
I’m going to give you a poem. Something I have rarely dabbled in for many years. But this one woke me from a dream and wouldn’t let go until I wrote it down. It is about my feelings on how individuals and society were bamboozled by the Public Health, Media and Medical Establishment Trifecta into wrecking our own lives.
Blindfolded Wrecking Ball
The man in the cab of the crane Sat upright Thick hands on the levers Shaking visibly at idle A hint of the power of the machine. Heavy canvas work clothes Bear marks that tell a story Of years layered deep Built upon debris from His wrecking ball. Mindful always of the force He delivers, where he strikes Laying down the condemned Preparing a groundwork For Renewal. With hope. Like a hawk's his eyes Miss nothing as he arcs The mighty arm precisely To the chosen point of impact For measured deconstruction Conducted with care. He is quietly proud. Years of honest labor unfold Opening on a tender heart Under a hard earned Grizzled leather hide. "Two weeks", he was told "You must wear a blindfold While you whirl the ball". Science dictates it must be done. "It is the only way". He has flattened so many things Why should he ask, "Why?" When told to flatten a curve? And by the way, he couldn't look While doing what he did. "Don't talk to your neighbors". "You are essential". "Front line". "Keep the blindfold on". "Don't hug". "Don't laugh". "Don't sing". "Let that steel ball swing"! So he did what he was told Violated Oath and Creed. Feigned he could not hear The crushing Boom Over his uneasy beating heart. Two weeks became two more. Two months. Two years. And flatten he did: Social bonds. Freedom. Autonomy. Recognition of a smile. The rubble heap grew. Steaming. Shredded. Pulverized. What had been, Unique and Vital Noble, Elegant, Alive Lay crushed, bloodied, dying. He did his part well Sacrificed to make it so. Blindfolded Religiously In the name of the Father Son and Holy Ghost. A day came the blindfold could come off He was told. But wait. Could he? Would he wake without pants on In a public place, ridiculed? He had dreamt it as a child. After all this time he felt It might be safer to keep it on Not risk such an exposure Of standing out, a heretic Of seeing with his naked eyes. Disused so long Could he trust them now? Would a suddenness of light Blind him? Burn his optic nerve? He was, unlike himself, afraid. Those fears were out of place. When he let the blindfold drop His eyes saw far too well Too clearly... what was it? A landscape alien and mean. Where was what he'd known? And Loved? What had been was gone. He himself had done this. Had followed faith in "Experts". Done his duty well. He knew he should have known. He'd violated Oath and Creed. Had swung his wrecking ball Blindfolded religiously Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.
It could have been me if I had accepted the hospital job.....I don't know what my choices would have been...so many were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Heartbreaking. Many lessons were learned in these insane, corrupt times.