May 13, 2010 Albuquerque Thursday
What do I do with the story when I read: “Thai general shot in the head”? I read it, and where do I file it? Does it become another weight of despair pulling on my arm? I see a shower of blood, a flower of red death blooming as if there were sudden rain in the desert. I see two armies with bayonets drawn. I hear the grief of mothers and children, and see the stiff countenances of warriors who can know only war. What isn’t war will break them apart in tenderness beyond reason. I see the oil spill in the Gulf eating up water, creatures and shoreline. And then we are in the kitchen where a family wanders through the house with cokes and stumble to their solo stations at televisions, computers and a game. The sun is settling lonely into the West. But brightens at the sound of human voice singing a song for the end of the day, for the sun’s journey.
1 comment:
Our comfort begins with silence and ends with the heart's beat. It reaches for us when we forget how to hold ourselves. We must nourish the remaining beauty of this world in order to nourish our loved ones, all spirits, ourselves.
Thank you for reminding us of this. The end of the day is a recurrent and miraculous opening for grace.
Rebecca
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