Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,
Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,
And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.
– James Russell Lowell

There is no coming to consciousness without pain. – Carl Jung

How extremely stupid not to have thought of that! – Thomas Henry Huxley

                  When is enough enough? When do we turn away from our old self and change our ways? When have we “had it up to here”?

                  The news these days does more than appall; it nauseates. How can this be us? I tremble weirdly before checking the morning’s headlines. Can’t I take the day off? But no, I must face the mirror. A decade ago, I could gasp, “What’s wrong with them?” Blame the yahoos in their red caps and the fiends who pull their strings! But after all this time, all these chances to repent and reform, “them” includes me. I cringe, writhe, I am so ashamed.

                  And not alone. Each day the Nameless One’s support melts like butter in the sun. We cite causes: the war, price at the pump, Reflecting Pool, pilfered billions, election meddling, testosterone; attacks on education, science, immigrants, women, blacks, the poor. The cruelty, incompetence, greed, vindictiveness, lies! Each offense infuriates some, while their cumulative weight grows insufferable for all. Early in this gruesome journey he boasted, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose any voters, OK? It's, like, incredible." Could it be Fifth Avenue’s strewn with one corpse too many?

                  Revulsion precedes revolution. I sense that instant nearing. Metanoia is the Greek term – that moment when we utterly change our mind. What happened to Saul on the road to Damascus. What happened to Thomas Huxley encountering Darwin’s thesis (see quote above). What happens to addicts, if they’re lucky, before it’s too late. What happens to Scrooge in Dickens’ Christmas Carol: "I am not the man I was."

                  Metanoia is neither welcome nor expected. Like vomiting. No choice. No confidence one will survive this upheaval. One must get it over with, then discover who one is on the other side.

                  I’ve foreseen this instant before. It was wishful thinking and may still be. I couldn’t imagine how far we the people could sink from our American ideal – our stupidity, indifference, pusillanimity, turpitude. This wasn’t who we were! And yet it was.

                  What brings us to this instant? Panic, not thought. We fear for our lives and our children’s lives. We can’t take it anymore. Our soul is a cornered rat that darts to safety. Kierkegaard called it the “leap of faith.” Now or never.

                  In the dozen weeks till Election Day, expect more defections from the Nameless One, for metanoia is contagious. Nations, no less than individuals, have their oh-shit moments. Fortunes will be spent persuading us things aren’t that bad or, alternatively, the other guys are responsible for the mess. They will fail, I predict, because things aren’t that bad, they’re worse. As the cancer is deep, the surgery must be radical.

                  The preference of recent voters for drastic reversals to the status quo reflects our panic. All incumbents seem complicit – to hell with them. Plenty of babies will be whooshed away with the bathwater. That’s what happens in revolutions: injustice in pursuit of justice.

                  My heart is in my throat. I dread the day. I can’t wait.