The King Has Donkey's Ears
The Presidential Debate Through a Mythic Lens
I should have never done it. I should have walked away from my computer and enjoyed my evening in peace. But to my horror, last night I found myself watching the 2024 presidential debate.
Writing about politics, especially American politics in 2024, is a dystopian labyrinth that can only end in madness and early death. I wouldn’t subject any of you to such a thing. So I’ll avoid the most basic of commentary on the situation which by now should be obvious to anyone who has remotely been paying attention since, let’s say, the day JFK was shot.
We don’t need any more hard facts about the desperate nature of our situation. And you don’t need me to tell you that we are in trouble. But this is the terrifyingly outlandish and heartbreaking reality: whoever grabs the reins of the supposedly “most powerful country on earth” is not a person who should be in power. Hard stop.
And, to my amazement, this sentiment finally seems to be catching on in more mainstream areas of our culture. Just watch the frenzy that was the post-debate commentary on CNN, for instance. Or don’t, actually.
I’m frightened and exhausted by all of it. And not for the first time, I find myself truly afraid for the future of our world and country. It's times like these, especially, when I turn to myth for guidance.
Michael Meade, whose fabled men’s retreat I’m finally attending this August, often says, “when nothing makes sense, mythic sense is what’s needed.”
Myth provides that “sacred third” thing that miraculously shows us a pathway where before we saw only brick walls. Myth shows me that it could always be worse. That our ancestors, in fact, had it much worse. That injustice has always been with us. That power can always corrupt. And that, despite all of this, hope can still prevail.
Mythic medicine is a balm that soothes and says, “I know it’s bad, friend. But remember, this has all happened before.” To the ancient ones, all of this has already happened, long before.
This is where we are: The fields are barren. The tower of stone burns to the ground. And rumors drift like musical notes down dry country roads, traveling from town to town, whispering the simple truth: “the king has donkey’s ears.”
There’s a story so old that no one can agree where it comes from. Maybe you’ve heard it before.
It goes like this:
Once upon a time there was a king. And once a year, this king got his haircut. But over time, people began to notice that once a year, a barber went into the king’s quarters and never came out.