At the gym on an otherwise standard Sunday. Unknowingly, however, I just so happened to choose the elliptical that just so happens to be placed directly in front of one of the dozen or so television sets placed throughout the giant warehouse of grunts, sweat, testosterone and insecurity. CNN, June 12, 2016. The media updates are scrolling incessantly smack dab in front of me. Unavoidable. The caption on the bottom of the screen remains fixed, however: “50 dead, 53 wounded in worst mass shooting in U.S. history.” Although the total fatalities has been reduced now to 49, this event still goes down as the Worst. Mass. Shooting… in United States history. Visible images of an intangible concept: Hatred. Watching this makes us see hate. And the sick irony is that all this media hype is it's exactly what the sicko shooter probably wanted. What amazing fodder we willingly and liberally provide for his fifteen minutes of fame. Crocodile tears well up in my eyes and my throat swiftly begins to swell. And then I remember where I am. I swiftly stuff those feelings away. This is familiar territory; every time I feel the unrelenting need to cry – but my stubborn side forces the feelings down, down, down – my throat begins to inflame, transforming the unconscious act of breathing into a painful chore. I vividly recall the first time this happened: I was just a little girl, at the movie theater. My dad took me to the movies! And the movie we carefully selected? My Girl. You remember: the mood ring; the bond of a childhood friendship; the bee stings; the sudden death. The boy’s death was so unfair. So sad. And I desperately wanted to relieve the pain in my throat -- the golf ball that refused to be swallowed -- by sobbing on my Daddy’s shoulder. But I refused myself this relief, as I also wanted to be Strong in front of my Father. Silly, I suppose. Nonetheless, on the twelfth of June in the year 2016, I swallowed the lump in the throat, once again. I usually refrain from talking lavishly about my beliefs regarding a God, there really is no secret. I refrain simply because these are details that may open the door to potential questioning and judgment. In short, I possess an uncertainty regarding the existence of a God. I tend to lean toward science, reason and logic. I like to have proof (or at least contestable proof). I like knowing things exist because they can be explained, proven. I enjoy the calculations of life, the things you can rely on and look forward to each and every day. Also, I wrestle with the knowledge that there are people who proclaim to be immensely faithful in a “great” and “wonderful” “higher being,” yet sometimes, some of these people do some of the most destructive, horrible, and gruesome acts. I tell myself these are probably people who have been tremendously hurt. People who have never known unconditional love, perhaps. People who were, at one time, children too; innocent children who might have suffered in ways no child ever deserves. Perhaps these children become grown adults who were born witnesses to despicable acts or abuse. Maybe these grown children were then forced to participate in such acts. And, perhaps, these are people, who just, finally, lost all hope. Although I try to make sense of it, I can’t help but to say events like Orlando make me ashamed, not of my own race or ethnicity, but of my species. So shameful, we are. It’s almost ironic, too. We’re so far “evolved” from the majority of living species. I mean, we created FIRE! We created TOOLS! We’ve got these big brains that can conceive of “symbols” – a thing to represent another thing! We can act in ways that are symbolic too! We can be passive aggressive to our loved ones – a way of telling them what we want to really say without really saying it with the added bonus of being horribly cruel and confusing! Oh but that’s not it! We can profess dignity, righteousness, morals and values, love and compassion… and at the same time, we kill one another. What is this? Is this life? Is this living? I don’t know. I don’t know what comes of this world after my body weakens and withers, when the synapses in my brain fail to reach, and after I begin shitting my own pants. Whether or not there’s a God beckoning us from behind some beautiful pearly gates, there is one constant. Mother Earth. Let us not forget. Mother Earth brings us a twirling, whirling maze of life and death; disastrous weather and the most breathtaking skies; she warns us with her thorns and poisons, and draws us near with her floral aromas and blossoms of indescribable color; she brings sunshine and rain; she feeds us with supple and juicy fruit, yet she exposes us to infections and viruses; she provides ointments and cures, and she allows us, above all, to live, and then pass. We pass on our physical bodies… back to her, all that she is, has been, and will be. This is a magnanimous cycle that goes on shyly, imperceptibly, in the background. Yet without this cycle, or worse, with the slightest disruption to this cycle, every, single species, suddenly, is at stake. Mother Nature is not a God. “She” is the “personification of nature that focuses on the life-giving and nurturing aspects of nature by embodying it, in the form of the mother.” But “she” is a constant. Look around. Look beyond the concrete. YOU!! You are one of the members of the tippy tippy top of the food chain that our Mother Nature has fostered. They say that the ultimate driver of every living species is to procreate and facilitate an environment for passing on one’s own genes. Given this, how does it feel to know that your own species is killing one another? And for what? For food? For shelter? For survival? Nope. Out of ignorance. Out of hatred. Out of ugly. I refuse to engage in the ugly. Can’t do it. I am no kind of perfect, and I am surely stained. But I want nothing to do with the ugly. Can’t. Won't. So instead, I went to church. On June 12, 2016, I went to church. There, at church, made small and humble as I sat in silence at the former Jewish synagogue. There, I was reminded that, although it’s easy to be crushed by the weight of these gruesome and media-grabbing stories, let us not forget to tell the other stories. The story of a man who helped his fellow man by buying him a meal when he was alone and hungry. Or the way soft, sweet murmurs of three baby kittens, newly born and perfectly precious, make a heart melt. Or when two friends, friends since childhood, who live nearly a thousand miles apart, come back together as if not a single moment has been missed. The church pastor reminded us on Sunday, to not give up. Don’t become skeptical. Don’t be skeptical. Don’t succumb to the evil that, yes, does exist, and even feels rampant, but that which does not deserve to win.
A skeptical person stands by – fails to lift a finger. A hopeful person checks in, engages. A skeptical person is a guilty as the person holding the gun. A hopeful person sees this life both for what it is, and what it can be. Love is more powerful than hate. And believe it or not, love is all around – much more so than its counterpart. So, hey! How about turning off the TV? Put your phone away; disconnect; unplug; and, connect with your fellow humanity. I shall conclude by borrowing a quote from a great movie, "Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinions starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around." ~Love Actually
1 Comment
Mom
6/16/2016 10:12:06 pm
Love it!!!! <3 We do, yes, HAVE to look for and give love...all the time!
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AuthorVanessa Ann, a writer and environmentalist. She possesses a Master of Applied Science in Environmental Policy & Management from the University of Denver. Her writing, at times, can be... a little sarcastic with just a dash of snarky. Archives
June 2019
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Vanessa is also a long-time contributing author (and former President) for the Sustainability Alliance of the University of Denver. Check out her published newsletters here: Some Say the Debate is Over. Yet the Heat Won’t Seem to Go Away, November 2016 Corn. It’s In Everything & It’s No Bueno for the Environment, February 2016 The Pursuit of Sustainability, August 2015 |
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