Untitled

I have a couple of posts in the making, but they need some vetting. In the meanwhile, some poetry. I composed towards the end of high school and have come back to it from time to time to revise it as I grow.

Two old women walk along a sandy beach
Decked in glorious finery that sparkles like the ocean.
Laughing, they speak of the past they have shared
Filled with lovers and friends and dreams.

But though they laugh out loud, one silently cries.
Her tears reflect the painful glittering memories
As though they were stars on a clear night,
Infinite in number, but each one forever distinct.

The tide washes over their feet in a constant rhythm,
Burying their painted toes in the cool, white sand.
The moment is sealed by each woman's personal ecstasy,
At experiencing a glorious blend of land and water.

But harmony does not exist in the thoughts of both women,
As the inner tears of the one liquefy and are born into reality.
The salty memory rolls down her weathered brown cheek
To join its brothers on the earthly mother ship at her feet.

Yet her tears go unnoticed by her content companion
Who remains a smiling figure in the midst of her memories.
How could she know of a past that is not her own
Filled with immeasurable sorrow and grief.

The tears fall harder and grow more numerous
Their attempts to cool the flushed old cheeks are in vain.
Anger builds within their source as she continues to break
Noting how her pain is again unseen by those she loves.

Betrayal once again shows its unforgivable self
And whispers secrets in her ear in its mocking tone.
She shakes her head, hoping to ward off unwanted thoughts,
Trying to force her purposeless mourning into permanent hiding.

A sudden urge to run into the oncoming waves surfaces
As an unfamiliar emotion takes a firm hold.
"What good is it, living in the past," it tells her
“When the present gives reason for rejoicing?”

The words ring through her mind like a chapel bell
Echoing for miles into her distant memories.
Grabbing her companion's hand, she runs toward the dusk 

Her content laughter glittering among the infinite stars.

Cause for Celebration

I had made the decision not to post anything in response to the celebratory reactions that occurred across the country when Osama Bin Laden was killed. Part of that decision was motivated by fear- I know many who would not react kindly to my saying I was saddened by the cheers that followed the news. Another motivator was guilt- there is definitely a part of me that is relieved that such an evil being is no longer a part of this world. Yet another reason not to post anything was respect- others have been able to say precisely what I am thinking and feeling in much more eloquent language than I could ever use, and I think their voices should be recognized. For a prime example, see http://www.huffingtonpost.com/pamela-gerloff/the-psychology-of-revenge_b_856184.html?ref=fb&src=sp. But after hearing that people were posting pictures of his body on Facebook, I could not keep my mouth shut any longer. My apologies if I sound redundant, but the simple turth is that this message is worth repeating. This so-called “celebration” is not something in which we should engage- it is beneath our capability to love, it is offensive to human dignity, and it demeans anything that is actually worth celebrating.

Nobody is denying that Bin Laden was an evil man. He was the leader of an organization that killed thousands of people, out of a claim that he was doing it for God. He shattered so many lives, he created an atmosphere of fear and hatred, and he felt no remorse for his actions. He turned a peaceful religion into a weapon, and used it as his justification for murder. He spread a message of hate and refused to compromise on his twisted ideals. He was evil.

But he was human.

I cannot honestly say that I did not want him dead. Hatred is a powerful force, and revenge is a tempting path. I wanted him to pay for the immeasurable suffering that he had caused in the past, and any pain that he continued to bring and threaten. Like everyone else, I wanted justice. I wanted him to feel every ounce of the pain he had brought into the world with his hate. Like many others, a part of me wanted revenge. A part of me wanted him dead.

When the news broke that US forces had killed Osama Bin Laden, I reacted the same way many others did- I was in a state of shock. I had gotten so used to his being “unfindable,” that I had since lost any expectation that we would ever bring him to justice. But once the shock subsided, I started to wonder “What next? How does this change anything?” Sure, he was a public figure, an indisputable icon for the concepts of hatred and murder. But did his death really change anything? Aren’t we still at war? Aren’t there still soldiers and civilians dying every day? Did us killing a killer really make the world a more beautiful place?

It is absolutely true that his death may have brought closure to many who had lost loved ones in the attacks on September 11^th. They know he is gone; they know he cannot order anymore killing, that he cannot cause any new pain. And closure is something that we can celebrate. Closure is something to smile about, something to cheer about. Those of us who may not have lost loved ones in the attacks but were hurt in other ways can also find some closure. There is one less person spreading a pervasive message of hate, one less person dampening our hopes for a peaceful world. We SHOULD celebrate a reduction of hatred. But we should not celebrate the taking of a human life, no matter how evil it might be.

Cheering at death is not the way we encourage change, it is not a method for bringing about peace. Must we mourn the end of this evil life? No. But we must recognize that this evil was stopped using the very same tools this evil had used. And by reacting to Bin Laden’s death in the same way that he reacted to the deaths of those who were killed on his orders, we continue down the same hatred-inducing path. By celebrating our own act of killing, we destroy any opportunity for us to become leaders in love. Instead of showing regret for taking a human life we are taking pride in the fact that we are killers. By celebrating his death, we show ourselves to be a vengeful nation, not one of compassion and understanding.

The celebration does not need to end. But its basis needs to be changed. We should never celebrate the taking of human life. We should strive for peaceful solutions, for opportunities to show compassion. We have that capability, and we need to use our incredible power to spread a message of love, not hate. So if we want to cheer, let us cheer. But not for death. To borrow from the above-linked blog:

‎"One aspect of being human is our ability to choose our own behavior; more specifically, our capacity to return good for evil, love for hate, dignity for indignity."

Under Construction

I'm currently working on something that I am tentatively calling the "Love Scale" (title also in the works). It's a theory or framework of how intolerance can evolve into celebration, inspired by my own experiences and events in the world. Right now, it has five key phases-

1. Informed intolerance (where we know the facts, we know the pain our hate causes, but we still choose to hate; we believe the difference will hurt us)
2. Uninformed intolerance (where we don't know the facts, but because something is so different, we choose to hate it out of fear and misunderstanding; we fear the difference will hurt us)
3. Tolerance (we gain exposure to some of the truths, understand that maybe what is different isn't necessarily bad; we are still uncomfortable but we don't take active steps to attack it; however, we don't take active steps to defend it either; we just "let it be").
4. Acceptance (we not only allow something to be, but we come to an understanding that this different thing does not hurt us, and it does not hurt anyone else. We no longer react with hesitation, and are even willing to support those who are different)
5. Celebration (we love the differences we see; we realize different does not mean unequal; we seek to learn more about the diversity among us; we defend everyone).

This is still a work in progress; in fact, it's just an idea that has been floating in my head, which I have had little time to develop. I hope to do an analysis of historical movements and see whether there is any legitimacy to this "scale," or if it's just the result of sleep-deprived reflections. Thoughts and suggestions are welcome.

Welcome

While most of what I put here will be in my own words, the inaugural post comes from an inspiring creative mind:

I am a kind word uttered and repeated

By the voice of Nature;

I am a star fallen from the

Blue tent upon the green carpet.

I am the daughter of the elements

With whom Winter conceived;

To whom Spring gave birth; I was

Reared in the lap of Summer and I

Slept in the bed of Autumn.

At dawn I unite with the breeze

To announce the coming of light;

At eventide I join the birds

In bidding the light farewell.

The plains are decorated with

My beautiful colours, and the air

Is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace Slumber the eyes of

Night watch over me, and as I

Awaken I stare at the sun, which is

The only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and hearken to

The voices of the birds and dance

To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;

I am the memory of a moment of happiness;

I am the last gift of the living to the dead;

I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,

And never look down to see my shadow.

This is the wisdom which man must learn.

~Kahlil Gibran, "Song of the Flower"