When the world's horrors get particularly intense and the cries of the suffering are ringing in my ears and the blood splatter is right in my face, I sometimes feel guilt and disgust over the mere fact that my life goes on and the planets of my existence continue in their orbits.
Some fundamental decency would require the Universe to pause and retch and take some oxygen before moving on.
The human capacity for standing up after falling down is wondrous and deserves a standing ovation. Evolution has given us scars as the answer to injury. Thank god for renewal's potion of forgetfulness.
But this resilience and all that it implies in averted gaze and suits of emotional armor seems perverse at the same time.
How dare I laugh, how dare I hum a tune, how dare I feel hungry so soon after the atrocities and the disasters inflict their punishment on our collective spirits!
That's why the rituals of mourning and celebration of lost lives are so important, the hand-drawn placards, teddy bears and flowers at the scene of tragedy, whispers of condolence and hope to the survivors, to one another. The solidarity of resistance and transformation. Even on social media.
You are my minyan and quorum, dear friends. Thank you!" -- Facebook post, 18 March 2019
