It feels wrong to write about anything when the sky is falling, people are getting run over while eating sausage and buying last minute gifts, and orphaned children will never know the game of make believe because they’re hiding from the war outside their doors; it’s safer to remain in reality than to escape it.
I sit here in my fuzzy socks with my gingerbread coffee, the sound of the heater rattling on and there’s nothing to write about. I am safe. I am warm. I am one of the lucky ones.
Only questions: why? Why can’t they be here, too? When I kiss the girls at night, I think of all of them, who shiver from fear instead of the cold. There’s no blanket thick enough to stop it. Instead, I wrap them in my thoughts and then I drift away from the knowing and back into the distraction. But, they can’t. They can’t leave it.
Fuck. What do I do? How do I help?
What have we all done? Pretending that the world is flat.
We convince ourselves that the horizons move with time and time will never end. The wars will end and there will be peace, in time.
But, that’s not true.
Somewhere along the way we forgot that this world is round and it connects, and the same battles will be fought and lost until we recognize it begins and ends with each of us. Peace is man made. Time solves nothing without our attention and action.
So, what can I do?
I can teach my children that time is finite, and it’s their responsibility to keep the peace within themselves, with each other, with others and to never forget that peace will disappear with the horizon, if they forget that the world is round and we are connected. ~Rebecca