Stillness
If my mind is the needle and my thoughts are the thread, the thread slips from the eye that tries and fails to keep the two connected. Thoughts slip and slip and slip, and I cannot hold on, for everything is fragmented; I struggle to complete a single idea.
Last night as I drove, a deer ran onto the road. I slammed down on the break just in time, and we stared at each other, the deer and I. It stood firm as I swerved around to the left. It said with its eyes wide, you can move; I get to stay.
Ultimately, we lay claim by standing still.
I used to think that power meant movement. Run faster. Work harder. Lift more. But now I see that real power and strength comes in the stillness.
By standing firm, we force others to do the heavy lifting and maneuvering, and that is how we gain control.
The news is heavy. The state of our world is heavy. So many have died; numbers in the thousands, numbers so large that the math sickens, turns sour and curdles in our mouths. We hear babies screaming. We hear their parents wailing; their skin burnt and festering.
And yet, we’re still here. Trying desperately to hold onto the thread of our thoughts. We wake up. Go to work. Take care of our children. Attempt to sleep. What a privilege. What a weight.
Let us stand. Let us point ourselves in the direction of justice, even when our governments will not. We can look into the distance. We can turn our shoulders to face the sun.
Violence, in all its forms, is evil. We, as individuals, can choose peace. We can hug our loved ones close. We can swerve when a deer stands in the road.
It is not enough. Note even close. Powerlessness wraps two knotty hands around our neck. But we stand, regardless. We are forced to watch. And we won’t forget.
