I’ve been feeling the chaos of alphabet soup consuming my life. TDS, TS, and PTSD have all combined to leave me feeling discombobulated and anxious. Even heavy doses of exercise, meditation, music, and community connections have not been a sufficient antidote for my stress. Maybe I should just read all those TS’s as “Tough Shit.” Here’s the story.
I’m 81 years old, a Vietnam Vet, and I have a mild case of Tourette Syndrome (TS). I’m currently drowning in the headlines and finding it difficult to stay calm given my Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS) combined with Vietnam-based PTSD, Tourette, and the daily news. I am finding it hard to manage the anxiety and symptoms caused by the chaos. I read the NYT for two hours each morning and watch local news, BBC and PBS from 5-7 every evening. I’ve reached the conclusion that I need to cut back on media consumption but still remain informed on what is happening in the world.
More importantly, I have decided to focus on what’s happening in the moment – to be more fully present to “now” and to appreciate the enduring connections that emerge out of those moments. If I can’t carry the weight of the world, maybe I can lighten my being.
What I have found is that, in order to ease the load—whether it’s the death of democracy, my own death, or the death of a loved one—being fully present in the moment is one of the best ways to deal with whatever load you are carrying. Some believe that “eternal moments” or “being present in a given moment” is a choice. For me, it’s not an either/or. Quite the contrary. When I’m fully present in a moment, those moments can feel eternal. I believe that eternal connections can be experienced when you are able to connect fully in the moment with what’s happening right here, right now.
In the fast-moving culture in which we live, human experience is often defined by a frantic race against the clock. We mourn the past and fear the future, particularly when faced with the “death” of things we hold dear—be it the passing of a loved one or the crumbling of a long-standing social ideal like democracy. Yet, there is a profound paradox at the heart of time: the more we attempt to outrun it, the more it haunts us. To ease the pain of loss, it seems to me that we need to stop running from the past or avoiding the future and start pausing in the present.
One might argue whether “eternity” is a theological promise or if “presence” is a psychological discipline. However, these are not opposing forces; they are two sides of the same coin. When we are truly, deeply present, the boundaries of time begin to dissolve, revealing that the eternal is more qualitative than quantitative.
An “eternal moment” is not a mystical anomaly; it is the natural result of total immersion. When we connect with ourselves, others, or a higher purpose—stripping away the distractions of digital notifications, the weight of yesterday’s arguments, and the anxiety of tomorrow’s uncertainties—we enter a space of pure existence. About forty years ago, I co-wrote a book entitled “Connectedness” which discusses those connections at length and has been used extensively in psychiatric rehabilitation. Maybe I should start practicing what I preach.
In moments of deep connection, the “tick-tock” of the clock becomes background noise. We are no longer measuring life by its duration but by its depth. Attention is the purest form of love. By giving someone our full presence, we are validating their existence in a way that transcends the physical. Thornton Wilder understood that when he wrote Our Town.
Being present and fully connected reduces the fear of “ending” because the moment itself feels complete and self-contained.
Whether we are facing the literal death of a person or the metaphorical death of a system we believe in, the pain stems from the feeling of discontinuity. We feel like the threads that held us together have been frayed or broken.
By developing the ability to find the eternal in the now, we build connections that cannot be touched by despair or death. If you have shared a moment of absolute, unfiltered presence with someone, that moment remains a permanent fixture in the fabric of your consciousness. It is “eternal” because it is no longer dependent on the physical presence of the other person to exist; it has been etched into the “now” of your soul—an eternal connection.
While some believe that experiencing the eternal is a matter of luck or divine intervention, to me it is a radical choice. To be present in the face of grief or political turmoil is an act of courage. It requires us to:
- Acknowledge the Pain: Presence does not mean ignoring the “death” occurring around us; it means sitting with it without being consumed by it.
- Release the Outcome: Eternity is found when we stop trying to control the future and instead honor what is happening right in front of us.
- Engage Fully: Whether it’s a final conversation or a quiet walk, the depth of the engagement determines the longevity of the memory.
Ultimately, the “eternal connection” is not something we wait for in an afterlife or a future utopia. It is a bridge we build in the here and now. When we allow ourselves to be fully present, we discover that the moment doesn’t just pass us by—it opens up, offering a glimpse of something timeless. In the end, we don’t lose the people or ideals we love; we carry them within the eternal “now” that we were brave enough to inhabit with them.
When I fear the “death of democracy,” I experience it as a structural collapse—a failure of institutions, laws, or elections. But if I apply the philosophy of the eternal moment, it feels more like a conversation that needed to happen—no matter how painful. Perhaps the death of democracy is simply a collective withdrawal from the present. When we become obsessed with the ghosts of past grievances or the monsters in the nightly news,” the living moments of deep connection become hollow and unattended.
To save a democracy—or to find peace while it transforms—requires the same radical presence we bring to the bedside of a loved one. It requires us to move from abstract fear to concrete possibility. In the song Get Together, the Youngbloods sang in the 60s; the lyrics encourage us to smile on one another AND whatever life brings us. Here’s the first stanza:
Love is but the song we sing and fear’s the way to die.
You can make the angels sing or make the mountains cry,
though the bird may take its wing and you may know not why,
Come on, people, now smile on your brother,
Everybody get together and love one another right now.
The song sends a clear message: our choice is to sing a song of love or fear the way we live and die.
When small acts are performed with total presence—like smiling on your sister—these acts take on an eternal quality. They are “right actions” done for their own sake. Like a beautiful melody shared with a dying friend, the value of a democratic act is found in its expression, not just its ultimate success or failure.
Hopefully, the connections made during a struggle—the solidarity, the shared purpose, the moments of collective bravery—become part of the “eternal now.” These connections form the seeds from which the next iteration of freedom will eventually grow.
Personally, I need to find new ways to deal with the challenge I’m facing—where the news cycle acts as a “trigger” for neurological and psychological symptoms. Fortunately, I have a long history of resilience, plentiful resources, and practiced resistance—but current events can sometimes bypass those capabilities.
So how do I translate all that into action? How can I find a better flow and lighten my being? Instead of spending four hours a day (two in the morning, two in the evening) in high-intensity information environments, I’m going to reduce the time I spend reading the news in the morning and limit myself to local news and a little PBS.
Since I’ve done the hard work of staying in shape and keeping a disciplined mind through meditation, I now need to “close a few windows” to the storms outside so that I can enjoy the practices, projects and people connections I’ve built over time.
Believing in the eternal moment within a political context means refusing to be “gaslit” by the chaos of the news cycle. It means claiming your right to exist, connect, and be here now, regardless of what the history books might say tomorrow.
Connectedness isn’t a destination we reach; it is the quality of our presence with one another in the pursuit of a shared life. By establishing eternal connections with our friends, family and faith in the future, we ensure that the spirit of love remains alive within us—immune to the death and destruction of any single institution or individual.
I’m hoping that instead of simply saying, “Tough Shit” to ourselves and to each other, we build enduring connections that help us deal with whatever death we are facing. May it be so.
