In which American politics feels like a Greek myth

The Ouroboros is a famous symbol, even though you’ve probably never heard the name. I’m going to do you a favor and just show you the picture.

"Isn't that the ring Aragorn wore?"

Now that you see it, the wordy, Greek name takes on meaning. The Ouroboros devours itself; the snake symbolizing fertility and eternity. The Ouroboros isn’t necessary a Greek-only idea; it’s present in other cultures as well. Jung latched onto it, attributing our ‘primitive ego’ as the ultimate symbolism of the Ouroboros. I wanted to smash my head into a wall listening about the contraception debate. When it morphed into the Limbaugh vs. women-as-caterpillars, who get vaginally probed after being stripped of health-care, debate, I reached a whole new level of astounded. I found my shock morph into indifference as one asinine story about women morphed into another equally moronic response. Then I knew what was happening. American politics, at least on women’s issues, morphed into an Ouroboros; we are literally devouring ourselves, retreading the same group. Nothing is too extreme any more; we are numb to the insane, but amid head line after headline, I try to let go of my own tail because I do need to care. If I don’t care, I know I’m at risk of repeating mistakes in my own life, but as a culture, if we don’t care, we will remain stuck in this political environment until we consume ourselves.

And now, I end this depressing post with an adorable, underground mammal!

Pictured: fuzzy incarnate