Basic realisations

I could send words out there
Words of wrath, words of hatred,
Words of sadness, words of distress,
Because I too, am affected,
I too oscillate
Between utmost anger and utter despair.

I could
Join the ludicrous legally loaded logorrhoea
The apparently futile quest for panaceas
I could utter words
that cut, smash, shatter and hurt,
That take us dark corners and one-way streets, to the abyss and down the spiral of mutual destruction we have gotten way too familiar with.

But what would be the point? In times like these, numerous are those who are eager to recuperate the hate, transform your words in mysterious ways into phrases that serve their agenda and purpose only.

I would merely accept to be another pawn in your manichean lunacy, a puppet in your spectacle of man-made madness.

I have learned that anger is nothing but a proxy for sadness,
And sincere sadness is a gateway to compassion if you let it.

So what point would there be in transporting my mind and heart to the theatre of suffering, the arena of death and despair, the terrain of the slain slave just in order to sow the seeds of violence into tear-soaked soils elsewhere?

Information is never perfectly available nor accurate, images are subject to instrumentalisation and propagandistic reverberations way too fast. But at some point, the information has to be good enough for us to move towards a preliminary conclusion at least that the state of things is unacceptable by any measure at any rate.

The side-taking, the frantic rushing to entrenched positions and the fight for justice, whatever your parameters of just or unjust may be, are merely manoeuvres that serve to keep us blinded and removed from the very basic wisdom that the pain is real and, in its essence, the same for all of us.

There is just tragedy, pure tragedy. Allow it to sink in as such.

Of course, some things are complicated, but others are not: Such as the basic and common denominator of our moral compasses, which is that there is no excuse for a child, a toddler, a baby being killed.

There is not a single „but” that the universe provides as even the slightest justification for even the most fanatic among us.

There is just the parting, right in front of our eyes, of a child who could have gone on laughing, playing, smiling, drawing, dancing, crying, screaming of joy, dreaming of a better future for his brothers and sisters.

There they are, souls of souls leaving maimed bodies, going back to where they came from, way too soon.

What else are you left with than your faith in some God out there who will hopefully have a reason for all of this happening? Of course you put yourself in God’s hands, you let go of this world before the next bomb or bullet rips you out of it. What else are you left with but your faith in some greater force that you can surrender to at anytime, that will eventually unite you with your loved ones in a place where love reigns?

You see, the only reason you have lost sight of the basic wisdom that a child does not deserve to die

Is because you are blinded by the lies,
Lost in a sinister narrative that deprives you of your ability to feel, that numbs you into docility and obedience to a power that has neither yours nor humanity’s interests neither in mind nor at heart.

Some day, you will inevitably wake up to a version of you that will no longer recognise your former self. You will be estranged by the sound of your voice, the coldness of your thoughts, the cruelty of your actions or omissions.

You will be forgiven by the souls of these thousands of children whose killing you condone, so I believe at least. But will you ever be able to forgive yourself?