When is Enough…Enough?!?

It feels as though the world’s leaders have lost their minds. As if they’ve slipped into a dangerous game of power and ego, moving pieces across a board without regard for the lives beneath their hands. And the rest of us, “we the people”, are left standing in fear and disbelief, asking the same question over and over again: What on earth is happening inside their heads?

It is not the powerful who pay the price for this madness. It is the people of every nation…the families, the neighbors, the children – who carry the weight of political insanity and unchecked greed. Not greed for what is rightfully theirs, but hunger for what belongs to everyone else. Somewhere along the way, the balance tipped. The power of the people was quietly traded for the power of the power-hungry. And now we are left wondering: when did this happen… and when will enough finally be enough?

The death toll rises across the globe. Once, as US Americans, we watched distant horrors unfold on foreign soil, believing – naively, that they could never reach us. Now that violence has been carried to our own doorsteps. We the people are no longer observers. We are witnesses. We are participants. And it is time…long past time – to pull our heads from the sand. There can be no more looking away. No more pretending this is someone else’s problem. It is time to wake up, to smell the gunpowder and tear gas, and to say with one voice: enough is enough!

The message we’re fed is muddled and poisonous…voices everywhere, shouting over one another, spewing hate, distraction, and recycled lies. A fog of smoke and mirrors meant to confuse, divide, and exhaust us. And still, astonishingly, so many cling to it. But others are stirring. Others are seeing clearly. Others are standing up and whispering, then speaking, then shouting: this is not okay.

I hear the sorrow in the voices of friends and family left behind to gather the pieces of shattered lives day after day. I see their courage as they stand for what they believe in, even when the deck is cruelly stacked against them. I feel it when my own family must walk into a grocery store accompanying a neighbor, afraid to go alone. That fear brings me to tears. This was once a peaceful place to call home. 

When did it become acceptable to plant terror in the soil of a society? When did killing in cold blood become normalized? When did mass violence stop shocking us?

We now watch armed, masked men fire into crowds. We see chemical agents – once banned by the world, now used on citizens. And then we hear the lies, smooth and shameless, poured from the mouths of leaders as the moral fabric of the United States frays before our eyes. It is shameful.

Some days my faith wavers. My resolve feels thin. The obstacles loom so large they seem impossible to climb. And yet…somewhere deep inside – my heart steadies itself and keeps beating. Because even surrounded by madness, truth still exists. Because even drowned out by noise, compassion still speaks. The lies and the truth are both on full display now, painted in living color. And we are being asked, urgently, to choose.

Our lives are already being disrupted. Maybe not by bombs falling from the sky, not yet…but by fear, division, and the slow erosion of safety and trust. The tipping point is no longer ahead of us. It is here. We can choose to stand, peacefully, courageously, together – or we can hide and hope the storm passes us by. History has shown us where silence leads.

This moment is calling us back to ourselves. Back to humanity. Back to the understanding that power has always belonged to the people when they remember who they are. Not through violence, but through unity. Not through hate, but through truth. Not through fear, but through love that refuses to be extinguished.

So I ask again…not in despair, but in determination:
When is enough, enough?

I believe the answer is rising, quietly but unmistakably, from the hearts of people everywhere.

Peace over adversity: Which will win?

As I sit here, far from the land I once called home, I feel like a castaway – safe enough in body, but restless in spirit. My heart has never left the people who don’t have the luxury of distance, who cannot step away, who must stay and endure and fight, quietly or loudly – for the simple right to live in peace.

I watch eighteen monks walking from Texas to Washington, DC. Eighteen human beings placing one foot in front of the other, blister by blister, mile by mile. They carry no weapons, no demands…only the radical offering of compassion. They speak to anyone willing to listen, reminding us that peace is not something granted by power, but something cultivated within. Their message is soft, ancient, and profoundly inconvenient.

And then I look at the other image unfolding at the same time: injustice normalized, cruelty excused, violence absolved by the very regime meant to protect its people. My eyes fill with tears at the stark polarity of it all. Love walking barefoot on asphalt, and brutality signing itself into law. How can these two truths exist in the same place, at the same moment?

Yes, peace begins within us. Yes, we must stand for those to whom violence is being delivered and disguised as order. But how do we reconcile this duality? A nation split down its own spine…grieving, angry, afraid. A war within our borders, fought by people turned into instruments, while those pulling the strings keep their hands clean of blood.

What breaks my heart most is knowing that this violence comes from flesh and blood no different from my own. That human beings, mostly masked men, can commit such harm with such malice, then return home and sleep. Your mother is watching you, your wives, sons and daughters. That evil does not arrive as a monster, but as a neighbor, a voter, a uniform, a signature on a page.

And yet… somewhere beneath the grief, a quieter truth persists: this does not have to be the end of the story.

I wrestle with forgiveness…for those who empowered this harm, who waved it through with one stroke of a pen, one push of a voter button. The ones who dismissed warnings as exaggeration, cruelty as “fake news,” consequences as something that would only happen to others. Someday, this will reach your doorstep too. Not as a headline, but as a reckoning. And I struggle, deeply, with how to hold compassion for that truth without surrendering accountability.

So I return to the monks.

Eighteen figures against the noise. Silent, aching, devoted. How can something so small withstand such chaos? Maybe it can’t…at least not in the way we measure power. But perhaps the outpouring of love, the tears, the prayers, the witnessing – that is how peace moves from an abstract ideal into something rooted, something lived. Not to heal the world all at once, but to heal hearts, one by one.

A forest does not begin with full-grown trees. It begins with a seed…fragile, buried, fighting through cold and heat, breaking open in darkness before it ever reaches the light. Strength is not loud at first. It is persistent.

Photo by Bernie Boston 1967

We may not be able to meet might with might. But I am reminded of an old photograph from the 1960s: a single flower placed into the muzzle of a gun. A quiet refusal. A reminder that even in the face of violence, there are those who choose tenderness…not because it is weak, but because it is brave.

And maybe, just maybe, that is how the work begins. 🌱

A New Year’s Prayer

As this new year dawns,

may we pause –

like the forest at first light –

and remember who we are.

May we recognize the suffering born of hate,

and may we meet it not with more fire,

but with clear seeing, steady breath,

and compassionate action.

Like water shaping stone,

may our kindness be persistent.

Like roots beneath the soil,

may our intentions be quiet and strong.

When fear arises,

may we notice it without feeding it.

When anger appears,

may we allow it to pass like a storm—

felt, but not obeyed.

May we remember that each being—

human, animal, river, mountain, wind—

is bound by the same thin, sacred thread.

To harm one is to harm the whole.

To heal one is to heal the whole.

For those who feel small or powerless,

may we remember the teaching of the seed:

no tree begins as a forest.

One mindful act, one kind word,

one moment of awareness

can change the direction of the world.

May we walk gently on this Earth,

listening to what has been wounded

and responding with care.

May we release what no longer serves—

greed, cruelty, illusion—

and make space for wisdom to grow.

In this turning of the year,

may our minds become clearer,

our hearts more open,

our actions aligned with right intention.

May peace arise naturally,

as the lotus rises from the mud –

untouched by what it grew from,

offering beauty to all.

May all beings be safe.

May all beings be free from suffering.

May all beings live in harmony

Peace to all – Johnna

Seize Life

Today and yesterday were memorial days for Chris and I. Loosing two family members a day apart is tough. That was only 3 years ago. Life is too short and too unpredictable to let one moment pass by without taking every advantage it may hold…a lesson, a creative thought, a feeling, a beginning or an end. 

The older we get, the more we run away from the inevitable end coming at us like a freight train in a long tunnel. What is important today may not be tomorrow. It is so hard to really think about death, when we are living so hard but each step we take now, will have a ripple effect throughout our lives. 

Letting go of all our possessions 5 years ago was a release I really can’t put to words. It is so freeing. There is a struggle with “things”, and it is those things that will kill us or cause suffering we can’t understand, nor are willing to realize. That shiny apple will eventually shrivel and die and our suffering increases ten fold. 

What brings me pleasure is the simple things that can’t be owned or put into a box. The sunrise and sunset, warm breezes on a cold day, sand between my toes, the sound of birds, the wind, the waves, the warmth of the sun, music, good food, good friends, petting an animal, trees, grass and the desert. All these things are different each time encountered because of change/impermanence, but I still feel that familiar comfort and ease at each chance encounter. We’ve learned to relish every moment, good or bad, knowing that if something is off, there will always be a change, be it in a moment, a day or a week, and the good is for that moment only and to be cherished. I’m rambling. 

Bottom line…life is too short to sweat the small or big stuff. Life can be less about suffering and more about the joy of letting go and letting be. Get out and smell the air, feel the sun, listen to nature and LIVE!

Today I walk alone

I hear you rustling under the covers and I turn to feel your wet nose tap my warm nose, time to get up. You wiggle with glee when I sit up, almost unable to contain your joy. As if to say, yea my humans are up! I wipe the tiredness from my eyes and stretch to greet the day. It’s only 7:20 and already you want to play but more pressing, only after you eat. You pick up your plastic bowl, full of teeth marks from other reminders and demands of feeding. I smile as you stare deeply into my eyes, head turning from side to side, as if you are trying to pick my good side. I laugh again, and pull out your bag of kibble and you begin to twirl like a dervish, only you are fixated on the food filling your bowl. As I pick up the bowl, you whirl and twirl and roll over. Tiny taps fill the room as your claws struggle for a purchase on the slick hard wood. I set the bowl down, and like a ravenous beast you gobble down every kibble, inhaled as if it were your last meal. I go about making myself some hot coffee then settle back into my overstuffed armchair. The sun has begun to shine through the stained glass window, as it does every morning, casting a showy barrage of colors throughout the room. It’s my favorite time of day. 

Not long after I’m done my coffee, I look around to find you again, curled up on your small bed, satiated from your morning meal. As soon as I stand, you’re at my feet again, signaling with your head that it’s time for your walk. I glance out the window at the day unfolding, decide on my favorite faded jeans, my raggedy old sweatshirt and my favorite hightop converse. This should do for the chill of the early fall morning, I think to myself. I dress myself and slide over to the door where you are patiently waiting, leash in tow, your entire backend wagging from side to side. Again, the tiny taps of your claws on the hardwood, but this time the metallic clink of your tags fills my ears. I feel a lump begin to form in my throat. I reach down and hear the click as I fasten the leash to your collar. I fight back a tear as I open the door, blinded by the low angle of the morning sun. The cool crisp air greets me and snaps me from my vision. I look down at my hands, holding an empty leash. I spin around and look at the full bowl of kibble sitting on the floor. I stand in the doorway, the room is silent, awash with colors, but silent and empty. 

It’s been over a year since you’ve been gone. I still live some days this way. The routine we had for over 13 years. I still hear the sounds I will always associate with you. I am still haunted by your smell, your wet nose on mine. It’s like I’ve been frozen in time, a loop I’m unable to exit from. I wipe back the tears that have now filled my eyes, blurring the room into a kaleidoscope of undefined colors. My heart beats slow and my breath measured. I place the leash back on its hook and close the door. Today I walk alone. 

A Tragedy

We are flying at 12000’ above the ice choked mountain tops of Glacier Bay, Alaska. Whenever the clouds part, we all crane our necks looking for a small airplane. The search continues today for the missing pilot and we have become part of the search, as anyone flying today.

We found out the rest of the story today from our taxi driver, Jax. She explained how loved and revered these 3 people were, an integral part of the community here in SE Alaska. Samuel, or Sam, was a seasoned pilot that loved the community and flying. Tanya and Hans, also in the missing plane, were also stand up members of the community. Hans provided air transportation to rafting companies, anglers, hunters and commuting people to other bigger cities around SE Alaska.

According to our taxi driver, the three had just attended a wedding in Haines and were on their way back to Yukatat when the plane went missing off radar around the Fairweather Range, a location of vast mountains and glaciers, rugged and beautiful.

Sam used to play Uncle Sam in Haines’ 4th of July parade. Hans and Tanya had been together forever and were integral members of this small tight knit community. The admiration and sadness, coming through Jax’s voice as she recanted memories. The entire atmosphere of Juneau, Haines, Yukatat and Dry Bay, has grown solemn as the search was called off due to bad weather. Planes have been grounded as a fog and rain blanket the coastal area again.

This weekend is the county fair in Haines. I’m sure that the revelry will be quelled by the loss of these three.

Living as Hard as we can…Two Travelin’ Chicas

It’s sometimes hard to slow down and take time to organize my thoughts. We have now been on the road for almost 4 months, not including our 2 years of vanlife. We have visited Ireland, Scotland, Portugal mainland from Sintra to the Algarve Coast, Madeira Island, San Miguel Island in the Azores, Germany, Austria and Spain. We are currently on our way to wrap up our Schengen EU Visa in Dubrovnik, Croatia. From there moving down into Montenegro for at least a month, which used to be Yugoslavia until 1991. From there who knows where?

São Miguel , Portugal

It sometimes feels like we’ve been gone for so long, and at times I want it to just stop and go “home”, but where is that? My heart is filled with gladness, my mind filled with curiosity. There is just so much of the world to explore. I must admit, at times, we have to pass up some countries we’d love to explore due to many different reasons, both political and uneasy feelings about traveling there as two women. We are playing it on the side of caution when if we were younger, we might throw that same caution to the wind.

Does that mean that we are older and wiser? Life is more precious? Probably…

In the last 2 years, we have been taught a lesson in the value of living life as if it were your last day on earth. I tear up just thinking of family members lost too soon and those that lived out their lives to the fullest and just came to the end of life’s road, including my grandmother and our faithful corgi, Gandaulf. It is part of our motivation to do all we can while we are healthy and able to.

Another motivating force is the all encompassing world of climate change. Since we’ve been retired and living in the world as nomads, living with and off the land around us, we have seen the changes first hand. Coastal flooding, unbearable heat and harsh winters. Storms off the charts. It seems that every year we are breaking records of all types, rain, heat, hurricanes, snowfall, wild fires, ocean temps rising, and drought, to name a few. Perhaps it is the way the earth is trying to wipe us off like a festering tick sucking the life blood out of her? It is everywhere and my heart is saddened to think it may be too late to reverse. Perhaps it is just the way it is going to be and we all will pay dearly in the end. In the meantime, here we are off on another adventure to see all we can before it is gone. We are doing all we can to reduce our carbon footprint, but we are just a minuscule part.

Galápagos Tortoise

A Small Tear on my Heart

It’s been a month since we said farewell to Gandaulf. I still have moments in the day when my eyes fill with tears and the words get stuck in throat. Times when all I want is to feel his thick, soft fur between my fingers, and smell his musky odor. At night I swear sometimes he is still there at the bottom of the bed snoring. Of course I sit with the feelings, let the tears fall and, like the clouds in a blue sky, it passes and I am left in the present moment…to move on.

Playing in the water was a favorite past time

We continue to sell off all our possessions and donated 4 big boxes of women’s clothing to the women’s shelter and odds and ends to the DI. Our shed is becoming more and more vacant everyday. Getting rid of “stuff” is fun, freeing and terrifying all at the same time. What I want to get rid of, Chris thinks we might need someday and sometime visa versa. No matter we settle and the item stays or goes and we move on to the next.

We have started our trial packs. It takes almost as many clothes to be gone for a week long vacation as it does to pack for a year. Save a nice outfit for the occasional fancy dinner or cafe hopping, a few more necessities for hiking or swimming, and an extra pair of shoes…they make a thing called a washer and dryer, so…just like at home, you still need to stop for a domestic goddess day.

The farewells continue almost daily. I have hooked up with some healers that are concocting some plant medicines for me to continue my journey of good mental health and a balance of mind and body. It’s been almost six months since I went cold turkey on anti-depressants and entered the world of good, wholesome plant based medicines. The journey has had its ups and downs, but I am a whole new person, not better, just changed and more energized and grounded.

Between this change and my spiritual endeavors, I have broken through the ancient fortress built around my heart and mind, and found a strong, safe foundation to build a new life on. Yes I have many small tears left on my heart, but I am free from this old baggage and free to build a new adventure in loving kindness and peace.

Death Watch

It’s 2am

It’s me, Gandaulf asleep at my side, and dad.

The sound of mantras drift through the air lowly summoning courage

Courage to face the unknown

The sound of breathing machines tick and buzz

Each breath, labored.

The elixir of comfort,

Administered by an angel

Release from the bondage of machine

A broken vessel

In the silence of the night

Let go

You’re not alone dad

We are all here.

I watch

Each breath labored

I’ll hold your hand

Till you let go and slip

Off into the peace of death

1/23/22