I've been silent for a while. Sometimes I just don't have a lot to say. This time, I just couldn't remain quiet.
I found this picture today. It made my heart ache. Alone, he says. Etched, enscribed, cut into his skin.
Alone. It makes my heart weep. Why do you feel so all alone, I would ask? I would want to hold him, comfort him, make the pain go away if I could.
I wonder, what does it mean to him that he feels so very alone as to be naked, with his pain so clearly defiling him? What does it say that he finds the spoken word insufficient, yet his silent screams come off the page in deafening waves like a tide rolling over my soul? Why does he feel so very alone, and why can I do nothing but ache for his pain?
Today I read and heard another of our illustrious congressmen, our "leaders", stand so righteously and declare himself burdened and bullied by those who are seeking nothing but simple equality. Another such "leader" queuing up for his public chance to be pompous and hateful in a squandered moment in the public's attention. Another who seems fully justified in abandoning those who need him to be more than a reactionary parrot of the hate-filled far right. Another who has stood up and declared this young one unloved. Unwanted. Alone.
It is interesting to me the change that a night of sleep makes as I look at this picture again. I stand by what I wrote above, but I wonder if part of my writing is more from the pain in my own heart rather than the pain from this young one's?
I am so tired of those who say one thing and mean another. I am tired of the Bible thumpers who pound their lecterns with the condemnation of God for things Christ didn't seem so concerned about, yet ignore those very things Christ spoke upon repeatedly. I am tired of a government run by opportunists and hate mongers filling their pockets on my dime then condemning me.
And, perhaps that is why I've been so silent for a while: being tired has an effect upon a person.
I had a dream last night. I don't have many bad dreams, but this one had me in the grips; I dreamed that the scarlet letter had returned, but somehow in the form of a brand - people were branded for their sins, with the letter of the brand indicating which crime they had committed. The only way to not be branded was to run and create a new identity.... and odd that I dreamed I was out in the middle of no-where, alone....
I wonder, as I write this, the brand for condemnation, for hate, for those who fail us so miserably?