Boston Marathon bombs kinda took the air out of me today. Mom and I were at the local Bible Book Store when we heard the news. I have looked for a song on youtube to express what I am feeling. I ended up listening to bits and pieces of Leonard Cohen songs. This is a straight ticket to a place that makes me want to smoke cigarettes, be in the rain, drink whiskey straight over ice and move on down the line. Feels like the perfect mood as I reflect on all the incidents of violence in our country, not to mention around the world, but there is something especially insidious and horrific about violence that appears from nowhere on a beautiful day when children are in school or runners are running a race rejoicing in the day and the supporters are cheering and encouraging from the sidelines. There is no good time for violence. Violence comes in many forms. Violence bends and shapes us into confused and angry people. It is only the grace of God that allows us to move forward and drop the ugliness to embrace His grace.
But I wonder at times if I am becoming callous. There is so much suffering. I see it on the macro level (big view, for my friends who are thinging, "say what?") and the micro level (close at hand for purposes of this blog). Better be careful or I will be using words like "paradigm". Paradigm is overused to the point that it makes me giggle when I hear it. Retirement has taken me out of the world of management and classes on the technique du jour (not a soup, silly! That is "soup du jour") I am saying it has taken me away from the most current technique of these days for being positive, creative, productive, leading others, buzz words, brain-washing, mind numbing techniques for doing what we were going to do anyway without the (ahem) b.s. which was get the job done with fewer people, more work and shortened deadlines. Lord, where was I when this paragraph started. Think! Think! Think! Oh yeah!! I was saying I am afraid I am becoming callous or even indifferent to the pain and suffering in this world. T.V. dramatizes every incident down to the smallest detail. I have precious little time to process my shock and despair at all before the news announcers drain the reality out of what happened and I am left with details that mean nothing to me and multiple pictures of the same person being taken to an ambulace. It is macabre. (I like that word) The poor lady on the stretcher is shown over and over again while the voice of the announcer works a magical spell into the incident stating the facts in a hundred different ways, interviewing just about anyone that will talk to them and asking questions like, "Were you in shock that this happened today?" GIVE ME A FREAKING BREAK! I was in shock and I was nowhere near Boston. Just give me one chance at a question like that in a tragedy situation and I promise to anyone reading this that I will break into maniacal laughter screaming "No! No! Of course I was not shocked! Moi? What a stupid question!" Then I will foam a little bit at the mouth, pull my hair with both my hands and run off into the distance.
Maybe I should not write before 1 a.m. Maybe I need to be close to asleep with my ears beginning to hear that little buzzing sound that means I am sleep deprived. Which makes me wonder why I stay up until 2 or 3 a.m. when I am exhausted. Why? I mean to go to bed. Let me rephrase that...I know I should go to bed earlier. It would do wonders for my health and I could lose weight and my thoughts would be coherent and life would be a dream but best to refer back to my first paragraph of this blog to see who the real me is when left to my own devices. I have never really been about doing all the right things for myself. There is that dark side. Yep, Leonard Cohen sings and I drift into my daydream of wandering and lostness with cigarette smoke curling out of my mouth, pulling it into my nose and out again through my mouth as I ponder and ponder. To quote Simon and Garfunkel, "Hello darkness my old friend!"
I bid you adieu! It is 10 p.m. Freaky! Absolutely Freaky!
No comments:
Post a Comment