Dark Day

 Even though the air is cool and moist, it feels like a mist of  fear that is  accumulating, as if some desecration has occurred, of which no one may speak.  A forbidden word, a tragedy so personal, yet it seems to reflect the whole in every shattered fragment.
Laughter might break the ice of this bleak feeling. But laughter is not permitted in such a sacred scene. The rule book of the multitudes and the rule book of almost any single being would forbid it.
What is this that has happened? It was taking role playing to another level. Like a child building a nuclear bomb in the basement, first drawing the plans with vibrantly colored markers. “I will make the mushroom green, or no, I’ll make it yellow,” he shouts gleefully with no ill intent.
Let us realize the horrific sadness of this event. Let us get on our knees. No, let us lie face down and kiss our earth. This is not rehearsal. Life is here now and yet we do not know when our life will go.
Do you want to spend your last moment groaning because you forgot to share a bag of peanuts with your mom or your son?  Do you wish you had given your daughter, your sweet daughter a bouquet of little flowers? Do you wish you had offered your friend a meal?  Or told someone that you love them madly, in spite of the fact that their shallowness astounds you.
What is shallowness?  Have you considered that some do not want to swim in the deep, because they somehow know that they do not swim well enough and would sink beneath the waves?
 Take some time to awaken from your dream of desire for your empire.  Your desire for control or fame or shiny things.  What king  or queen rules your dreams and who gave  him or her dominion?
Today I walk on a road alone, my head hung low. Am I ashamed?  A little bit? I took the bait. I thought I wanted something and it only brought me hate. What is hate? Is it the reverse of love?  Is it the outer edge of love? It hurts. Like  wanting to be warm and embracing a space heater and then carrying it on your back. I will offer my hate up. I will sacrifice it for the child inside me who needs to play free. I will place it on a pyre of ideas I thought were mine and realized after I had them that someone who wanted to sell me something, had whispered them into my ear, while I was sleeping. Probably some other dreamer, who only wanted to make a living?  Ideas that might have cost me my face and my heart. I will hand them over to fate.
I will remember the kindness in someone’s eyes. That will be my hope. That will be my dream. To be kindness. To beam kindness. To offer a hand or to bow and walk on.