My husband said it very eloquently the other night . . .

It really is the end of the world.

Witness:

We are on the verge of war.

Europe has teamed up with Russia against us.

Mr. Rogers is dead.

No one is singing or dancing on Broadway.

And Nell Carter isn't even around anymore to "Give Us A Break."

Yes, it's the end of the world as we know it.

But, hey, I'm OK with that. Because I have six boxes of Girl Scout Cookies stashed away, and a copy of the SIMS.

That oughta see me through Armageddon.

(P. S. Blah. I've been sick the last few days. Blah.)

So, I definitely recommend that everyone see Finding Nemo. It's visually beautiful . . . I expected nothing less after Jessica's raves . . . but what most impressed me and drew me in was the excellent vocal character work by a bunch of great actors.

Ellen DeGeneres was the one who really blew me away. Her perfomance as Dory - an upbeat, likable blue fish who is hyperactive, mentally disabled, and probably ADD as well - is both gut-bustingly funny and incredibly touching. Props to Ms. DeG for doing her homework and being real . . . Dory's combination of courage and insecurity, her bright worldview and the terrible fear underneath, will probably be familiar to anyone who has been close to a differently-abled person.

Oh, and I never expected to hear Allison Janney as the voice of a starfish named Peach who lives on the side of an aquarium. Priceless.

I know it's popular these days to say, "I'm spiritual, but not religious." I really wish that were true for me. I am extremely spiritual. But I am also profoundly religious.

I guess it comes from my upbringing, and perhaps my genes. My mother was in the convent, and my father was in the seminary, before they both decided to chuck it and go have kids. The structure of religion, the community of it, the ritual, the tradition . . . these things all appeal to me deeply, in a way that a relatively sketchy, undefined "spirituality" does not.

The problem is, although the concept of religion is in my bones, the desire for it as real to me as my desire for food, I have not found a religion I care to be part of. In fact, I feel strongly that the concept of religion is deeply flawed, and that all religious organizations - all human organizations - are innately imperfect . . . and often harmful to their members.

You see my dilemma. I'm in love with the idea of religion. But individual religions . . . not so much.

My current solution to this problem is to pretend that I belong to a different religion each day of the week. Most Sundays, I'm a Presbyterian. Mondays I'm a Deist. Tuesdays I tend toward neo-Paganism. Wednesdays I'm a Discordian. Thursdays I'm a Psychic Christian. Fridays I'm a Taoist. And Saturdays I'm a Quaker.

Each religion teaches me lessons, and today (even though it's only Monday), I've been thinking Quaker thoughts.

One of my favorite things about the Quakers is that they do not tend to believe things "just because." They almost always have a persuasive, common sense reason for their beliefs. And the door is always open for the belief to change if, one day, it no longer makes sense.

For example: gambling. Other religions say things like "gambling is morally wrong." Quakers are a little more specific. George Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends (aka the Quakers), had a life-changing experience when his cousin and another friend invited him out for a drink when he was nineteen. After the first round of drinks, his two companions started to get a little rowdy. They ordered up more beer, and decided between themselves that they would keep drinking until someone couldn't drink any more. Whoever was the first to refuse a drink would be the "loser," and would be required to pay for all the beer consumed by the three men that night.

George did a remarkable thing for a nineteen-year-old. He refused to bow to peer pressure. Rather than go along with the game, he slapped some money on the table, and said the seventeenth century version of, "I'm outa here."

George was already aware of a feeling that would develop into one of the central ideas of Quakerism . . . the feeling that any victory that comes about from the misfortune of another is not a victory at all, but a terrible failure. This is why Quakers tend to discourage gambling.

Think about it. The only way you can really enjoy such a victory is to be ignorant of the suffering it causes to others - which makes you an idiot - or to actually derive enjoyment from the unhappiness of the defeated - which makes you a monster.

I was thinking about this today because of the tone of Presidential politics (speaking of idiots and monsters).

Isn't it sad that the whole political machine in America, regardless of party affiliation, seems to be centered around the desire to be a "winner"? The candidates and their gangs keep telling us how America can win, how each of us individually can win, if we only cast our vote a certain way in November.

But no one seems to be talking about who loses.

I've decided that rather than challenge this win-crazy zeitgeist, I need to just surrender to it. I need to pull a George Fox, put my money on the table, and say, "You know what? I don't play this. I lose. Game over."

As I learned from my Friday religion (Taoism), "The superior man, faced with an unscalable mountain, does not try to climb it." (I actually made that up just now, but I'm sure it's in the I Ching somewhere.)

This voluntary surrender is liberating. I feel like it frees me from the futile vanity of trying to win, and allows me to focus on the much more important task of figuring out which path will cause the least amount of suffering in the world.

It's interesting . . . I guess I expected to be more upset by a Bush victory than I actually am. But now that the votes have been cast, and troops are descending on Fallujah, and we are where we are as a country, I'm seeing the situation a little more through my "spiritual counselor" eyes, and I find it hard to be adversarial.

There's lots of media talk about the "two Americas" and "red states vs. blue states," as if we've suddenly found ourselves in a new, tense moment of cultural conflict. But let's face it . . . America was founded on such internal conflict.

It's ironic that Kerry, the liberal candidate this time around, should be from Massachusetts, since the early history of that state contains all the contradictions of America today. As every school child learns around Thanksgiving time, the Massachusetts Bay colony was founded by Puritan "Pilgrims" fleeing the religious persecution they faced in England.

What few school children learn is that the Puritans in America, while enjoying their own religious freedom, did not feel at all obligated to share said freedom with anyone else. In the Puritan worldview, only Puritans were entitled to the Massachusetts brand of freedom. Others subsequently fleeing England, also looking for a safe place to practice their beliefs, found themselves brutally disillusioned upon reaching Massachusetts. The Puritans would banish or hang any newcomer who didn't share their faith.

Freedom for me, not for you. It is the refrain of both the red states and the blue states, then and now. The definitions of freedom are somewhat different, but the final application is the same: Each of us wants to live in a country where our concept of freedom reigns supreme. Few of us want to be bothered with the idea that freedom may mean different things to different people.

Fast forward to the drafting of the Consititution. Northerners felt slavery had no place in the United States. Southerners relied on the practice of slavery for their way of life. Based on this one difference alone, the two sides would never in a million years have agreed to form a Union . . . except that neither group could hope to sustain their independence from England without the aid and support of the other. So a compromise was struck, and a schizoid nation was born.

The mutiple personalities of the USA have come to blows many times since then. The Civil War was the bloodiest and most overt episode of "acting out." The Temperance movement of the early 20th Century (passing a Constitutional Amendment banning liquor, then repealing it) was another.

The suffragette struggle during World War I to give women the right to vote, and the racial integration tribulations of the 50's and 60's were further manifestations of the "two Americas" at cross purposes. And today's twin conflicts over the recognition of gays in society, and the role of Christianity in U. S. government, are just the latest flare-ups in this ongoing psychosis.

It is not new.

But perhaps, after hundreds of years, we are reaching a new level of frustration about it . . . all of us.

At this moment in history, I actually find the concept of "two Americas" - despite its divisive tone - to be a very useful one. It occurs to me that what we are dealing with, really, is a long, rocky marriage between Mr. Red and Ms. Blue that is not going so well. Tuesday's election was the culmination of a heated argument between the spouses, and Mr. Red won.

Mr. Red is currently trying to consolidate his identity as the winner, as the superior partner in the marriage, the one who "knows better." Ms. Blue feels helpless, and bitter, and is clearly looking for the first opportunity to "get back" at Mr. Red.

Any marriage counselor will tell you that there is absoultely no way that Mr. Red and Ms. Blue can enjoy a healthy relationship, or even achieve personal happiness, if they continue interacting in this confrontational, aggressive style. Neither Mr. Red nor Ms. Blue feels safe in this marriage. And without a basic sense of safety, no positive human growth is possible.

If I were counseling this unhappy couple, I would give them two pieces of advice:

1) Shut up for a while and let yourselves have a cooling-off period. Almost every statement made this week by both sides is laden with the bitterness of past suffering, and the desire for retribution. It is a valid human response to seek justice for past wrongs. But no discussion is possible if every word is a poison dart intended to cause pain. If you are too angry to speak constructively, than don't speak to each other at all for now. Find other outlets for your anger. Hit a pillow or something.

2) While you are not talking to each other, spend some time setting goals. What do you want, going forward? What do you want life together to be like? It's easy to become so mired in argument that you forget why you are bothering to argue in the first place. You lose sight of whether the argument is actually getting you closer to your goal or moving you further away from it. Write down a list of the things you really want to accomplish. And when you are ready to talk to each other again, bring that list with you, and stick to your objectives. Rather than re-fighting old battles, build new dreams together. Share your plans with each other, and see if a way can be found such that both parties can get what they are looking for. Because as with all human interactions, only a "win - win" resolution can lead to lasting happiness.

In short, whether you are a "red" or a "blue," if you look over at the "other side" and see a pack of demons right now, you need to realize that you are looking in a mirror. Step back, quench the hellfire in your own breast, and then take another look.

That's the only way you will be able to see America.

Just a note to the general public for next St. Patrick's Day . . .

Not everyone looks good in green.

And not every color was meant to co-exist in the same outfit with green.

Please, people. Don't make my eyes bleed again.