last night a crescent moon in a misty sky. despite everything.
i tried to write about friday and failed.
i only have words and they are worthless.
what i thought on friday was my god a thousand times,
in response to the slaughter,
in response to blame being assigned to everyone and everything except the shooter.
but that's what we do.
we want answers when there are none.
that no answers thing is the scariest thing of all.
i'd turned on the tv without sound as i usually do, turned on the computer, and looked up to see the words scrawling across the bottom of the screen. and i thought my god, and i thought how many? and i turned up the volume. with the first few details i thought white guy, and i thought crazy, which is no doubt politically incorrect to say, but i thought it anyway. i thought they will blame the guns, they will blame the movie, they will blame his parents, and i thought what is wrong with us?, and i had to remind myself that bad things happen sometimes no matter what you do.
i thought we can't fix this, all we can do is learn to live through it, if possible. i thought we need survival skills; we aren't taught those, but we should be and we need them. i thought of the passengers on flight 93, thought we needed to be those people, but also thought i have no idea if i can.
by late afternoon i'd heard blame assigned where i hadn't expected - rush limbaugh, president obama, the tea party, and i had to stop listening. i saw a reporter refusing to step away from the shooter's father as he stood in line at the airport, waiting for the flight to aurora, and i had to stop watching. i'd discussed it with friends, not searching for an answer, just needing to say words out loud. the panic attack hit at 7, while i stood in the grocery store, and it pushed me back into the evening heat, hurrying me home.
the tv stayed off and i worked crossword puzzles and read a bad romance novel. but even there, in those pages, there it was. scotland, the 1500s or 1300s, i have no idea - people rounded into a church and the church set afire. i thought of the same scene in mel gibson's the patriot. i suppose if one wants to kill a lot of helpless people, there all all kinds of ways to do it. bullets aren't necessary.
at work this morning i found a doubleleaf heart waiting for me outside the door.
when the ups guy showed up i said give me your hand, and he did.
i like the way he's holding that leaf as if might break.