Wednesday, May 28, 2014

100 blessings, meditation on UCSB shooting

Small Child says "thank you" 100 times a day.  100 blessings.  Such simple, reflexive, automatic, persistent, normal gratitude.  Gratitude for receiving simply what she so absolutely deserves.  Gratitude for receiving so much less than what she absolutely deserves.  Did she learn it from me?  I hope so.

Two women, five men.  Two girls, five boys.  Future engineers and politicians of America.  Future mothers and fathers.  None of us is innocent of your death.  Every leering gaze, every laughed-off comment, every swipe of lipstick that makes me "pretty" is a stab of the knife.  I say a hundred blessings on your mothers and fathers.

I woke in fear that my late-sleeping child would not wake up today.  But she did, and before "good morning" she walked over to tell me about the new toy she was fixated on.  Our conversation needs no preface.  You are always alive and present for me.  Your heart is my heart.  Your soul is my soul.  I say 100 thank-yous for your being, for your aliveness. 

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