Taking a Moment . . . .

20 Apr

There have been times. One time in particular–but others times besides. Times when I’ve thought–STOP. Wondered why EVERY THING didn’t just stop. Wondered how life itself could just go on– in fact, wondered how I could go on. How those around me could just keep going as if nothing had changed, while my own world-as-I-knew-it had ended. So when things happen like the Boston Marathon Bombing–I think that’s what its been dubbed–as much as I want to not take it in, I can’t help but. And really, I’m not sure I would want to just turn away–even if I could. Because it’s not only those “other people” who have experienced this grief, is it? It is WE. A wound has been ripped into fabric of our collective humanity. And while each of us will feel the impact based upon proximity to the damaged area, nevertheless, it is clear that our entire fabric has been weakened and must be repaired. Mended. Darned. Patched. Made whole again. And so we acknowledge this. We take time to recognize the truism that WE are only as strong as our weakest thread. And there we put our intention. And we begin the mending.

I was going to post today about other things, because in a way it would be easier. Easier to act as if this week’s events hadn’t happened at all. But they did and this image is my visual token in honor of. The lives. All of the lives. Those taken away and those lives where individuals are just beginning to realize how irreversibly altered they lives have become. The objects in this photo are white. Objects of hope. Shadowed by recent events but emanating light even yet. Feathers from a trumpeter swam. One buffalo tooth. An antler tip. All significant to me for a variety of reasons. All reminders of the wheel of life.

swan feathers

2 Responses to “Taking a Moment . . . .”

  1. Carol April 20, 2013 at 10:00 pm #

    Well written with such truth and such feeling, Patricia. This week we have all been wounded.


  2. Anonymous April 21, 2013 at 12:31 am #

    these things speak for themSelves. Life. it’s Something, isn’t it.


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