what i want to write

I want to write.  I want to write something good. The kind of good that moves people to

stop running into walls long enough to sit down and create a garden in the middle of this

chaotic maze we let consume our existence—because who cares about reaching the end

when you can sow the seeds of a mighty forest throughout the journey.  A forest no

bulldozer can conquer and no white picket fence can contain. 

But when I sit down to write I have no words to scrawl and no thoughts to organize.  I go

to bed disappointed with myself, and wake the next morning motivated to write, so I take

note of everything I see and hear and feel—every picture, every clue, every sign that tells

me there are stories to be shared and lives to document. I walk through the day with my

Jar, ready to capture and store every firefly spotted amidst the hours gowned by golden

rays.  And when the moon returns to the stage, I retrieve my jar expecting illumination,

but instead I find that the air holes were too small and all light that could have been has

been prematurely vanquished.  So I make bigger holes. Holes so big that by the time my

pen and I have united the fireflies have vanished. I’m left with a jar, and nothing to

magnify. 

I go to sleep with obituaries to write for the fireflies whose needs I ignored, and

fragmented memories of lost fireflies I didn’t slow enough to see during the time of their

calling.  I reflect until the moments blur like counted sheep, and before I drift into my

preferred reality, I tell myself these are the stories I wish I could write:

I woke to typhoon rains.  Rains, like the birth of Isaac, which bring peace to a weary

farmer’s anxiety over fields as barren as an aged Sarah.  And in an instant I was

transported back to India where a drought was stealing the lives of farmers who believed

suicide would bring them one step closer to their next lives, and one day closer to

possible redemption for their families.  So with prayers of desperation tied to their souls

their families bid them goodbye, and the crops continued to die.  Until the tears of

mourning wives became too heavy for the heavens to restrain, and their husbands

returned to the earth once again spreading their seeds to the thirsty wombs eager to

harvest and birth. 

And the rains made me think about the delicate balancing act that determines which

names have run out of time and which names have a few more years to play.  Too much

rain here and world powers are brought to their knees with nothing to surrender.  Too

little rain there and even the cockroaches are crushed under the weight of hunger and

thirst.  Too much money there and greed jades the mirrors until the only reflections they

offer are those of fear and depression.  Too little money here and future scientists,

humanitarians, politicians, lawyers, artists and doctors will never know how to read a

book let alone enter university libraries. 

I go to the bathroom and am visited by an occasional friend who reminds me of my

womanhood and confirms I have yet to become a mother.  This takes me back to certain

African villages where a girl can’t go to school after she reaches puberty because this

biological life-allowing miracle makes her dirty. Yet, yet, this same magical process

makes her a desirable candidate to be a wife because it proclaims to the world she can

now bear the next generation. And so she marries, maybe too young, and she is lonely

and she is hurt and she is scared and her role has been fulfilled.  She is a mother and

because she is a mother, because she is a woman, she is dirt. 

And this makes me think of the women who suffer around the world. Those told by

billboards they must be skinnier and whiter and more Barbie-like; those strong women

who sit on the bed while their boyfriends hurl slurs and fists at them when their hope for

the world has been replaced by broken dreams and emptied bottles; those women tied to

tables in kitchens and forced to starve their babies born without a divine penis; those

women who can’t be preachers and prophets; those women who are silenced and ignored

and spoken for. 

It makes me think of the women and men who take to the streets in Delhi demanding

rights for women; and the brave girls who sit outside school windows, writing down

every ounce of information they hear penetrate the cement walls telling girls prison is not

a place filled with small cells and locked gates, but anywhere that segregates her from

thought and expression; and the women who wake up and say “I’m beautiful.”  For all of

these men women I shed my clothing because I don’t have the rhythmic melodies of

poets or the tact of essayists to share their stories.  Naked I stand with my clothes piled at

my feet. 

I pick up my shirt and see it’s made in Indonesia.  My bra and underwear in China and

my shorts in India. And now I want to write about my outrage with monetary wealth

propelled globalization and the hierarchies stitched into our societies giving the rich

authority to determine the work and lifestyle of the poor.  Buzzing machines washed with

the sweat of those trying to evade the mighty jaws of  merciless consumer demands for

more ipods, cell phones, and computers.

And as I type this on my Macbook I think of those even less fortunate than the sweatshop

slaves. Those forced to the mines by guns and rape all so we can type on the best make and model.  We stay connected with the world and write scholarly papers on a device that requires men, women and children to hunt minerals found in the dark and dangerous depths of the land they should be walking and playing on.  They may never see another day, let alone a text book, but our wants and needs are hungry and must be fed.

It’s all too much to process, too much to feel at times, but then I listen to a student read who never could before, or I meet with a group of students and one tells me she wants to end poverty while another tells me he wants to make peace in war torn countries and the good of the world is once again unveiled as visions of the future embrace me through the words and hearts of our youth.  There is a story to be written. 

Jhusua take 2

You’re Not Alone

In this world where equality was drowned in a deep black sea;

Where love was swallowed by the Kaiser of judgmental humanity,

Which could turn a day of jubilance into a moonless night

And the age of glory refused to offer its’ light

But don’t let the words of colorless souls vanish your faith,

Or bring your life into the land of humorless marionettes

‘Cause you could jerk those words into the river of deficiency

Thus, be free to fly and reach the brightest star in the galaxy

It’s not a sin if there are two kinds of hearts sprouted by your earthquake prone world

It doesn’t matter if you are suffering from the nightmares of reality,

But it matters that your heart grows, which gives light and strength,

And that you’re the apprentice of love; not a traitor, nor a villain, nor a monster

And even if their demonic lasers strike and tear your golden mirror

There’s always a rainbow after a million pale tears have to fall

I will share with you the rare lights of my powerful chandelier

Always remember that I’m here and you’re not alone

Spaceless

During a lifeless winter day

The world was entirely covered with the tears of grief

Hopes were sunk in a deep dark grave

And my corpse heart was alone…searching for a place

I was there to be the light when the autumn conquered the dawn

I was there to offer strength when the stern paradise stole all life

But how could I divulge the words of truth?

If there wasn’t space available for me!

Did I need to pursue a search until I reached the kingdom of silence,

Or just bury my words in the grave where I belong?

‘Cause now there are pangs that bring down my hopes

And the comets beyond won’t show their brilliance

The goddess of sorrow whispered into the shadow of deadly cosmic rays,

Which refracted and hypnotized my foolish soul

Saying that I needed to cast my words into the dark hole

Where they would easily vanish, just like fake happiness

This is my letter to Jhusua

i'm including this because i spend so much time telling him the world needs his words and will listen to him, but, as you can read in the above poem, he more often than not feels his words are going nowhere.  this devestates me, and often makes me wonder if my belief in him is enough to make him realize all that he is, or if i should just sit back so he isn't so disappointed when things seem the same day after day

Jhusua

Never stop sharing your words with the world. They need to be heard and read. Your stories, your life, all that your pen documents, carries strength and the vision of a world where love prevails. This is something people need. It offers hope even during the most hopeless times.

Words have the power to transport readers from their world to another—sharing not only oases of peace and possibility, but also truths of reality and the complexity of human life. You have the ability to do all of this.

You possess a wisdom that far surpasses your age, a wisdom that you must always remember to hear and let guide you. The world may tell you one thing, but what you know, what you believe, what you have come to discover as truth should never be ignored or forgotten.

Use this notebook as a space for expression. Anything and everything. It is yours, just as your words are yours…never to be destroyed or stolen

Jhusua

I have no idea why I was brought to the Philippines, but I think it might have to do something with this boy.  The Philippines is a very difficult place to be “different.” In the U.S. I thought it was hard to be unique and dance to the beat of your own drum, bur here, I think, it's much harder. 

I have a student named Jhusua.  I have contemplated naming my future son after him.  He is a remarkable boy, and there is something in me that literally feels like it is melting when I read his work or see him smile or watch him struggle as he tries to figure out what he thinks about something or as I listen to his often terrible stories from life outside of school.  “Melt” is such a cliché word, but I can’t think of any other way to describe the connection I have to Jhusua.  

I wanted to copy a piece of an email I sent John Todd about Jhusua, but I couldn’t find it, so I’ll just do my best to give you a little bio.  Basically, his work will speak for itself.  He is a compassionate soul, and has a degree of empathy and understanding I’ve never seen in anyone else his age. He knows and feels what people he has never met, and may never meet, feel and know.  It’s as if he is somehow transported to their lives when he is day dreaming in class or walking home after school. He has such a vivid comprehension of all that is a part of this world. His wisdom is almost terrifying for such a young person, and he is in tune with all life. He is sensitive to everything. When something hurts, he hurts; when something thrives, he thrives.  But, he is strong and he is a fighter. I think a lot of this has to do with his life and the way he has been treated at home and by his peers. Just as he can love, he can hate.  Both of these expressions are so pure and so full. I cry when I experience him doing either because his love is so powerful that you can watch it heal people, but his anger and hatred is also powerful, and I fear they have the potential to do great damage in him, just like anyone else.  But, unlike other people, he is in constant dialogue with his love and his anger (sometimes hatred) so that they are both solidified and he carries them with him in every thought and feeling that passes through him. 

 Since I met him last year I have hoped that I could somehow encourage, strengthen, and support his self-image, and thus his ability to find internal peace and spread his love, because I think it’s a dangerous thing for someone so young to be torn down so many times by so many different people.  

Before you get the privilege of reading Jhusua’s wise insights to the world around him and himself, I will give you one more quick preface.  In the Philippines students have not been trained or encouraged to think critically. I have little else to say about that right now, other than that is one of the main things that setsJhusua apart from his peers and why adults and youth alike criticize and judge him.  It is not acceptable to question or doubt what has come to be common belief. At the same time, this is one of his many qualities that I find refreshing and gives me hope for the Philippines. I have no doubt it’s this quality that will help Jhusua do great things for the world.  

The first four of these posts are taken from his class journal.  The first ten minutes of my class are dedicated to journaling based on a different prompt every day. The journals are graded for effort and individual thought instead of grammar.  The next six are from his private notebook. Enjoy, and hopefully, through these you will get to see a glimpse of an incredible boy I get this time working with and learning from.

A portion of Jhusua’s response to the word power written on the board

“If I’m giving a chance to have a power to rule our country, I will not accept it or I will just ignore it because I just want to have a simple life. A life where I can express myself and a simple world where there is even a small space available for me to shout my words in the world which could offer hope and could bring peace and love in everyone’s heart.”

The World of Seven Billion (A National Geographic map that shows areas of development, population growth, access to food and water, health statistics etc.)

“Actually I don’t read the details written in the chart because it’s so long. But when I read the title, I surprisingly said, ‘Wow!’ The title have a really great and powerful impact and charisma. The first thing that comes to my mind is about overpopulation and poverty after I read the title.  We are all aware that the main problem of all governments in different countries was poverty caused by overpopulation. Because of poverty, sad to think that many youth will not be able to go to school because their parents have no enough money to support their studies.

Especially in Africa, aside that most of the children in that continent cannot study, they also can’t eat three times a day. That’s why most of them are malnourished, which caused high rate of death. Because they easily got sick from their harsh environment in the reason of they are lack of nutrients in their bodies to fight or avoid getting deadly diseases.

Actually, sometimes before I sleep, I think about the children in Africa and in other countries. In my imagination I saw them sleeping in the mud, nothing to eat and no comfortable things for them to live. I feel sad. I fell guilty because I can’t do something to help them. I’m sorry, but I can’t continue to write what’s next ‘cause now I’m crying. I don’t know what to write anymore…I’m sorry. Goodbye”

Cultures (A response to a National Geographic map that traces and displays the exchange of technology, food, art etc across the globe)

“I also didn’t read the details about this one, but what I understood when Miss Kaitlin told something about this topic to us is about obviously ‘cultures’ and progression of some countries. In cultures, we are all know that each countries have their own traditions, philosophy, and beliefs, but some countries have almost the same cultures maybe because of colonialism. For me, our cultures is most important things in our life because some people can be able to identify whether in what country or raise we are belong. And I think culture is like a rights which should be respected and accepted by others. And which we can be proud of and complete our personality as one voice. 

In progression, the countries belong or categorize as the most progressive are the U.S.A., Hapan, Chine etc. I think the basis why those following countries considered as richest countries in the world are the amount of energy that they consumed and their technology. I know and we know that everyone wants to have a developed county but what is the value of progression using high-quality technology if we could destroy our environment, our beloved world where many people are living, not only me, you and them. Am my right? There’s nothing wrong to aim progress but we shuld make sure that while our country is progressing, our mother nature is not suffering from the bad side effects of using technologies.”

Response to the statement “All men are created equal.”

“This quotation is extremely true and super powerful. Because we are really born equal with the same rights. But I think this quotation is just ignored by somebody cause we are all aware about the discrimination happening in our world. Most probably, the persons which are discriminated with others are the bisexual community. When I watched on t.v., I heard that the transgender lifes are mental disabilities. I don’t believe on this and I really hate those persons who discriminated the bisexual community and other persons who have insecurities in theirselves. Those who discriminates are such an evil because they ignored what are the feelings of those who they discriminates. 

If I would given a chance I would kill them because I felt hatred in those persons. I really, really, want to kill them even though a big sin and even I’m in prison. They should respect the rights and treat them equal as they are. Because our rights is our life, if we lose it because of somebody who discriminates us it seems like we lose our life. We would not be already a complete person. We would be a dust floating in the air if we lose our rights through discrimination. I don’t know why I’m becoming an evil because of those evil person too.  Maybe I just can’t accept that there are persons who discriminating others ‘cause I am one of the victims of discrimination. Most of the persons around me insulting me and saying that I am weird, abnormal, mysterious, and misunderstood, and they also treated me seems like they are on the highest and I am on the lowest!”

From his private notebook (p.s. he told me it was okay to share all of these entries with all of you)

To the readers:

“MASTERPIECE…a very complicated and difficult word to define. But according to the dictionary, Masterpiece is anything done with superior skill or in short a chief performance. Do you agree? Of course you did because it’s come from the master of all English word books which stating the correct or let say perfect definition of different words.

But, immediately…I felt confused because every time I heard or remembered that word there was a different or another idea which playing in my mind.

For me, masterpiece isn’t all about being great, being amazing, being stunning, being unique, being expensive, being powerful, and so on. ‘Cause for me, true masterpiece is anything which causes a great happiness to you when you accomplished on making it.  That when you see your work, it will offer brightness when the darkness blocks your way.

That’s what I think the most about masterpiece. But, you! What is your own definition regarding in the word ‘Masterpiecee’?” –Jhusua O. Celeste

Dark Room

I am alone…

Wondering unto the shadow of dayspring

Keeping the maiden came from darkness

And whispering to call the fair of happiness

I am standing…

My eyes having discourse till they cry

My greatest organ gazing into the sky

But my knees declare that I need to die

I am confused…

The weapon of death ant to end my life

And strange daylight cover me from grief

But the bold pale light conquers the brightness

And now…I’m dying…

Foolish blood creep around the heaven

As for the heavenly bodies ruin the beauty of Sunday

Until the angel of death ushers my soul with the world of sadness”

Private Journal

“When I watched ‘the Glee Project’ they performed the song entitled ‘MAD WORLD.’ That song wasn’t familiar to me but when I heard the lyrics I felt sad, I felt bad…I don’t know but I became emotional which leads me to cry.

They said that the ‘Mad World’ song is knowned on its strong words that are used to make the song powerful and unforgettable. This is all about ‘INSECURITY.’ Each performance that I saw wore a board where their insecurity was written. Some wrotes: fat, gay, small, misunderstood, numb, used, fake, black or white, rejected and anorexic—I don’t know what does ‘ANOREXIC’ means.

As I said, when I heard the lyrics I felt sad because that song or maybe that performance is related to myself. I have a lot of insecurities like being a devil, being fake, being less fortunate, being a loser, being weird and having a broken family. Sometimes I want to show my real me but I’m afraid because this world where we are living is true judgemental.

But now, I’m trying o change some of my bad attitudes to be a better person. That song and that performance causes me to thinked and imagined that this world is a world of sadness, where discrimination prevailed and where love and equality are ignored. I don’t know if I’m right but that’s what I think the most.

That song will not be vanish in my heart, in my mind and in my soul until the end of my life because that was powerful, amazing and genuine. And that song is also the reason why now I feel good because now I accept myself, my insecurities and I understand that there are reasons in all things happened in your life. Just accept who you are and be true to yourself then you will be free.”

Monster

When the darkness pace the entire land of insilence

Take either your breathe or your heart

Cast it away from me—the lord of monsters

Then swiftly read the gleam before it vanish

Don’t even try to tear my foolish heart

Or even after your fake and conditional love

‘Casue I could easily cast your soul on the dark-sided paradise

And make things nocious for you to ignore the light

But in the end of autumn, spring sprouts and creeps

Peace predominates in the world of greenish blood

So please entrust me your genuine heart

I’ll try to keep it, not destroy, or ruin it

And even the dark-day must have to come

I would conquer the evil spirit came from the underworld

Even it could be the reason for me to die

I’ll go for it…just for the sake of our love

I am weird

Most of the person around my world said that I’m weird. Sometimes I flet bad because they’re insulting my whole personality. But now I accept that I am a weird person, actually I’m really proud and glad to be weird ‘cause it makes me unique from others. And I think this is a blessing to me in the reason I’ll be able to express who I really am; n hiding and no pretending.

They say being weid is being mysterious, abnormal and misunderstood. But I disagree on what they say because for me it is more about being creative, imaginative and being curious in all things happened and would come to happen even something out of this world like aliens and ghosts and other things which can’t reach by science. Most probably, I think their reason why they called me weird because I am the only boy among us who loves to wrote poems, stories, etc. which is so hard and complicated to do in the reason of you need to widen your mind or your imagination. I really have interest in writing poems, stories, and others. I don’t’ know why but I think this is my only way to express what I felt or what I expereincd and maybe I’ll proudly say that writing is my PASSION!

Now I can’t wait to shout in the world that I am weird and I am proud to myself.  If somebody try to insult me, I’ll just ifnore them and let them do what ever they want because I knew in myself that I accept who I am and most especially I knew that I’m on the right track. 

If you could only love me

If you could only love me

My life starts its excursion in a world without gravity

If you could only love me

Stars at night will proudly shown its true beauty

If you could only love me

A thousand miles away seems like two steps for me

If you could only love me

It’s liked I took all the precious treasures using your vitality

If you could only love me

You are the bold knight and im your beige and metallic armory

If you could only love me

I could reach the sky and forget the reality

If you could only love me

The ocean of love prevails in my fantasy

mad thanks and love

everytime i get to the internet and load my email i feel overwhelmed by love and support. this happened just now. i opened my email and just started crying because there are so many kind and supportive words from so many different people. people from different countries, people who i've known only a few days, people i've known for a decade, people i was sure would have forgotten about me months if not years ago.  all of these people, all of you (if anyone is reading this haha), are absolutely amazing and i honetly feel so blessed to have everyone in my life.

i feel  i'm not uch of a person. just a plain average girl. nothing about me stands out or is remarkable in anyway--i tend to blend in with the walls so to say.  BUT, the people who i've shared life with thus far, and hopefully for the rest of my time, are stunning in evey way and have made my life anything but ordinary. without a doubt every person who i've shared  meal with or a conversation or even just passed by on the sidewalk have left a permanent mark on my life and have helped shape my worldview and have given me a great hope for this world. 

basically, thank you everyone, and you really have no idea how much your words mean to me no matter what form they come in...even just a fleeting thought.

i want

other volunteers have told me that they have made lists of things they want to do in their lives post peace corps (we have a lot of time to sit in solitude and think), so i figured i should make a list too.  here it is:

I want to go there alone, and leave with family

I want to love you. And him. And her. And them. And me.

I want to learn how to cook, and not just cook, but create a masterpiece of delicacy with spices and sauces and peels adorning the walls—like a canvas dressed with flickers of paint that were flung with simultaneous consideration and carelessness

I want to spend all day in bed doing nothing but eating popcorn and drinking root beer floats

I want to swim in the sea, dressed in only the glistening reflection of the moon

I want to get lost in the forest until truth has been discovered, and the most welcoming of trees has been climbed, lifting me to the sky for a baptism of light

I want to find peace. Not in a far off ashram visited by the wise, but here, and now, in the most ordinary of times

I want to eat caramel apples and ride a Ferris wheel because it seems simple and pure

I want to dance in the streets of Havana, chant in the hills of the Himalayas, and eat a baguette in the shadows sprung from the Eiffel Tower’s noontime chat with the sun

I want to again untie myself with the passionate African soil

I want to learn languages. The language of the soul while being engulfed by the mighty Navajo temples of soil and rock, baked under a sun known for its’ gifts of guidance. The language of the mind while discussing philosophy and politics with strangers on a street corner café in Prague, under the Bedouin sky in Jordan, beside Banksy’s mark in Palestine, to the sound of beating drums in Ghana, while drifting down the Amazon.  The language of the heart while watching a baby take her first breath and a dying man say his last goodbye. 

I want to sleep on the street where prophecies are told and bottles are finished

I want to write a letter of love to a murder, a rapist, a sailor and a saint. 

I want a small place to call my own with walls plastered in memories and vibrant colors, inviting all who enter to smile

I want to bury a box full of secrets

I want to believe that romance and love are true

I want to know God and all that God is

I want to jump in a puddle of rain and stand with the Zebra amongst the soothing sound of melodious grasses preparing for the storm

I want to be in a tent during a storm knowing all that surrounds me is being showered with life, while I’m inside being nourished with warmth

I want to remember my dreams

I want to spend a day in the park. Just you and me and we can lie in the grass and name the clouds

I want to kiss a soldier, and I want to stand with the pacifists

I want to make a grumpy man laugh, and get a child to ask “why?”

I want to make love to the rhythmic dances of shooting stars and the redemptive cries of monsoon rains

I want to meet an alien, and visit the moon

I want to swim with creatures that have yet to be named, and speak to people whose tongues are distinctive and unknown

I want to reconcile brothers and tear down walls and build welcome signs along the borders people cross for the sake of their children who remain in the distant horizon

I want to pick flowers along the pond, and learn an ancient poets’ song

I want the palm readers to be right, and I want the critics to be wrong

I want to seek hope in the most destitute corners, and I want to challenge the norm in the most comfortable settings

I want the horses to roam free and the buffalo to be

I want to fly through the sky and float with the wind

I want to paint for no reason other than I like color and getting my hands dirty, and I want to play guitar without a care in the world that I’m tone def and haven’t got a tune

I want to road trip cross-country, living off the hospitality of strangers whose lives are far more complex than their neighbors may perceive, eating in diners filled with old-timers, smoke and coffee, visiting holy sites and bars, blue grass concerts and under ground dance battles

I want to live freely, but remain bound to what is right and just

I want to invite those without four walls into my home. And speaking of that, I want to be rich so they can each have a bed and meals until their strength is regained and they are ready to step outside the door again optimistic about the day

I wan to learn to create beauty everywhere I step, leaving saplings where my feet have walked

I want my students to prosper and defend themselves against the cruelties of corruption and wealth

I want to be here and there all at once

I want to live in the camps that have dehumanized so many worn out souls in the hopes I can help people remember they are a name, not a number; they are individuals, not a mass story on the nighttime news in a distant place they have only heard rumors of being true

I want to adopt a child whose parents are gone.  And I want to love that child and help that child grow and discover him/herself and what she/he believes to be true

I want to walk through the snow, the light fluffy snow that carpets the world with hope, smoking a black clove, until I reach the perfect balance of being cold and hot all at once, of reaching a state of internal peace while still being eager to work diligently until the wars are over.  Then I want to go inside and sit by the fire and fall asleep to the sound of another voice reading stories of foreign places and close neighbors

I want the world to treat each color equal, but never forgetting to recognize and celebrate the qualities of each hue

I want each girl to grow up knowing she is strong and beautiful and each boy to grow up knowing he is beautiful and strong

I want lifelong lovers and devoted partners to be free to marry, and I want exhausted wives to be able to divorce[1]

I want the polar bears to have ice, and I want the farmers to have water

I want to grow a garden in the middle of a city. A safe garden. A place for people to play and sit and think and talk and dream and wish.

I want to jump from a plane, falling without restraint, and once I reach that point of either realizing there is no need for answers and clarity, or realize I have the key and the chest with all the answers has always been mine, I will pull the chute and gracefully glide back to ground where I will be swaying in a field embraced by the sun, preferably with an ice cream cone in hand

I want to know something is true, and I want that truth to be good, and I want to believe in that truth, and I want to be a part of that truth

---

[1] In the Philippines it is nearly impossible to get divorced, especially if initiated by a women, especially a poor women. 

typhoon mourning

Those from the days before warned us of this day

Like brail they engrained their belief, “all people are people through other people,” into the heavens where we seek hope, and the ground where we find enough gravity to stand, giving us momentum to push forward to tomorrow

But this truth has been cloaked as we shout and drink for no reason other than the death of another

Humanity fragmented, and we wonder why and how and when will it all stop. But we continue to wave flags in jubilee, filling the streets with festivity, ignoring the fact that flags are nothing but symbols of man-made lines that divide us from them and them from us and you from me and me from you…the outcomes of wars and lost lives all sacrificed for the flag.

And today another man falls, but we can cheer and praise this death as he is no man at all but a symbol of terror and murder—a monster feasting on the flesh of innocence, biting venom into the veins of life.  But what divides monster from man and man from monster? Is it the act of bloodshed without blinking an eye, without stepping from the body in remorse? Is it such hatred for a brother that cheers flood the streets like early typhoon rains? Is it the destruction of an earthly shell so that a mother and father can’t return their seed to the soil from which we all thrive? 

We must remember the words of the wise. The earthquake of pride and fear crumbles the tower, unlocking your fingers from mine and mine from yours, making my tongue foreign to yours, and leaving my eyes jaded by the debris of blame and judgment. Small particles of dust unseen by the mirror, but vivid to a soul of any other creed.  And these particles bond forming machines without hearts and killers without consciousness’. 

So one team rejoices while another mourns and plans for revenge, and the cycle continues just as souls vanish to light the skies, trying to illuminate the words for a future. So with dust in our eyes and poison on our tongues we prance around forgetting the typhoon always remembers to flood our streets, reminding us we are all human.