My ability to read fading so fast, I do not use the precious gift to read the news, the news of violence. I did so last night and my soul felt as faded as my eyes. Then my spirit whispered of the wounding that leaves life but penetrates and tears asunder the heart.
The closing of one's heart to another sends forth an arrow and bullet that shatters not the physical self but wounds the essence of the other's I AM. Can I not see a group of people, or even one, and in closing my heart allow their bodies to continue but steal from them, he or she perhaps the very thread they needed to believe? No reporters would gather, the world or community would not be in shock. That sentence a blessing for the closer and yet sad that no one would notice the victims.
We mark the days of violence with anniversaries. We will not forget. And yet today, for some, for those whom I close my heart and wound, today will be a day they will never forget.
Sweet mercy, may their hearts calendar boldly write only of a blessing.
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