The Repo Man

Robin of Berkeley is the nom de plume of a "recovering liberal" writing for the American Thinker. Today, she has an appropriately thoughtful piece entitled Obama the Repo Man at American Thinker. A quick quote to set the mood:

Cezanne painted most of his masterpieces as a senior. Woody Allen still cranks out a movie each year though he's in his 70's. McCain at 72 and Ron Paul at 73 held their own on the campaign trail.

and

We all know people like this. Maybe we are people like this. I know I am: I am over 50, and I struggle with a chronic medical condition.

After setting the stage, she goes on to explore what, in her opinion as a psychiatrist and an observer of people, Obama and the people around him are like. And she discovers an ugly truth: Obama, his advisers and "czars" don't like people very much.

In the world of Obama and his friends, there are able bodied people who can be used. Then there are the clunkers, the parasites and sponges. The welcome mat has been pulled out from under us; the Statue of Liberty is sinking.


For Obama, the only needy people are the invented victims, casualties of what Michelle Obama has deemed a "mean country." These sufferers deserve special status and help; for the rest of us, the sands of time may be running out.

For Obama, average people are a cancer on the world, a virus that must be destroyed. He likes playing "messiah" to the masses, but he really doesn't like real individual people very much. In her words, "Obama and his friends are the ultimate repo men." So what happened to Obama to stunt his heart so, to make him feel as he does?

Why in the world would the Powers that Be value an endangered lizard more than us? Because they look at the world through the lens of resentment and rage and only see good and bad, black and white. In their distorted world, there is no Truth, no Higher Power, no "time for every season under heaven."


There is no karma to work out, no crosses to bear, no grand design. The world is absurd, and they must reconstruct it, engineer a new and improved Genesis. Because they reside in the miserable, illogical world of the Self, they have no other path to redemption.

And there it is: they have to faith in God, no belief in anything higher than themselves. They never see the grandmother's joy in the fresh face of her grand daughter, nor the hear the hard won life lessons the grandmother teaches. In their great desire to make the world into Utopia, they never stop to think that God can not exist without the devil, that we may only know perfection because we have known imperfection. The irony is that "Utopia" means "nowhere."

When you view people as bodies that are utilitarian and disposable, your heart is as absent as the cold, metal tin man's in the Wizard of Oz. You are like the condemned souls in Dante's Inferno whose punishment was to never know God. To hide the emptiness, you try desperately to control the world.


But if you live in the Divine, then every day is a miracle, and human lives are precious gifts to be guarded and protected like newborn babes.


So, who is the next poet among us? The next artist, scientist, builder, adoring parent?


Who is the holy person in our midst?

Who indeed.