Maybe it was finally hearing Marco Rubio say “NO”, just no, in response to children begging for the human right to just be allowed to live, that’s got me especially down today. The realization that, yes indeed, living breathing small humans almost totally dependent on adults with power, are less valuable than money and guns. It’s numbing that we live in a society where children, our most vulnerable, have to cry and march and beg to not allow someone to murder them by exploding and spraying their body parts all over their own school floors and walls.
Something feels different this time, and I am encouraged by the fierceness and mission-directed outrage of our young Americans. My heart is bursting with pride watching them, while simultaneously cringing in horror as all the ugliest parts of NRA rags come out to defend their right to murder our children.
My rant is already too long. Just wanted to share what’s helping me to stayed glued together, along with our courageous young people who have yet to take a breath and grieve. We’re lucky to have them, and our future suddenly looks a lot brighter because of them.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
(From) THE PROPHET
~ Kahlil Gibran ~
Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Peace.