It is so fascinating how much passion can be summoned to bang the drums for end times, radical and even violent revolution, massive upheaval, apocalyptic change, all for the purpose of founding a better way. What happens in the liminality of the aftermath? Who cleans up the mess, and how? Do we all sit back at a grand potluck feast of dandelion greens, old apples, and the tinned leftovers scraped from Wall Street and Walmart, waiting for Bacchus with his asses and maidens to ride in with jugs of wine, as our mother earth sends her fast-growing vines to pound through the pavement and pull down the bridges? Beautiful, I will be there, with bells on and maybe not all that much else, ready to bury my Luciest face in Aslan’s frankincensed mane.

There is a lot about the DGR and Occupy that makes my pulse race in appreciation, and I am an absolute devotee of the utopian impulse. The problematic of a thing does not mean it can or should be ignored. A part of me is all for these cinematic protest propositions. Exciting! Energizing! Entertaining! Raw, core, spirit, character, adrenaline, emotional, life, life, life.

But then what? When the long-awaited moment slips away, what comes after? We need that plan, too, babies.

—

See here for a good review of the letter.