On Death By Hatred

It sticks to my skin like the after smoke of 9-1-1. I live in a world of hatred. It is easy to point the blame; it is useless to point the blame. A "Tale of Two Cities," New York and London. and what have we, as humans, learned? Nothing. It is too easy to pretend we forget; it is too easy to be irresponsible to life. Instead we categorize: liberals, conservatives, right wing, left wing, fascists, Muslims, Catholics, Jehovahs, fags, straights, chinks, towel heads, honkies, white bread, Protestants, Kurds, Americans, God by many, many names and just a diversified rabid followers, militants, peaceniks, suits, natives, flatlanders....You name it, we have a separate category for it---that's the concept folks, to separate. Sad, a real shame.

I was listening to public radio about a week or so ago. It was a replayed program from a few years back, I guess, two authors talking about nature. I thought, good, I am attuned to nature so this will be interesting. Nada, no way. I never did catch what the male was trying to promote--some self interest he was totally inarticulate about. And the woman, well the most cogent thing she said was a real hoot: "I've found it important to hang out with my pet chickens in the yard to allow their cheickenness to rub off on me." O..K..ay. Now if you take this concept a bit further, it would mean if I conscously hang out with baby bear, maybe some of her bearness will rub off on me and then perhaps I will be climbing trees like a real champ, or eating grubs. Ah yes, and if I were to hang out in the chemotherapy rooms more often with the other chemos., I can allow their what? vulnerability or fear? to rub off on me?? Maybe their and my anger? And if I do this long enough, will it turn into hatred? After all, it is a kind of war zone, yes? Do I really want that "chickneness" to rub off on me? Silly, yes, but think. Humanity has gone from the sublime to the ridiculous. I think it is up to each of us to be vigilent and screen what will and will not rub off on us, or does our "big brain" preclude that possibility?

Murder In London

I didn't hear until 6:30 pm that night, and then, quite by accident. I'm removed up here from the hatred and chaos of the greater world. but the news brought it back like a shot. Immediately I started to shake--a reaction that 9-1-1 has left me, like a dormant scar waiting to split open and bleed again at the slightest hint of violence. I feel for those who are there, and those who have been wounded, killed, or lost others. I think of Anastra, my friend. She is there on a spiritual quest, and she is there in the violence and the aftermath. I pray she is safe. I know she isn't. This will be etched on her psyche forever. She had called me right after 9-1-1; she knew I was not safe just as I know she is not. I send my silent tears to her and all the other souls there. I want to tell her, I want to tell them, come up here to my mountains. Be safe here. I have a place that is not a killing ground for hatred. any death here is purely due to the natural cycle of life. There is not gratuitous killing here because there are few two legged creatures here to do it. Those of us who are here feel a part of nature, not at odds with the nature of others. I will continue to try to call Anastra, and I will feel my way through the shame and the anger of being a part of the human race, one that is so destructive, arrogant, and intolerant. That murderous day in London has touched off a well spring of tears, a mirror of those that I have shed before in NYC on that sunny morning instantly sucked dry within a cloud of incinerated souls that scratched my eyes raw.