In the Wake of Tragedy: A Desperate Plea for Love.
I am not sure if this is a love letter or a desperate plea.
Either way, my beloved ones, it is written in the ink of my swollen and bruised heart.
I could soak pages and pages in blood.
I am afraid the clot may not form if I do not bleed before you, as this feels like a larger tide than anything caused from the surge of a single heart.
As a member of our global race, I feel as if I carry a bit of each of you within me. And I, too, am held within you.
Most of the time, I am madly in love with you. My heart is bruised from beauty. It swells with impulses so strong that I wonder how such immense feeling may be contained in this miraculous, little body. I fear my eventual implosion.
Written on my death report, it would read: Deborah Anne. Struck by Inner Lightening. Sacred Love Implosion.
I watch the ways you love, the manifestations of goodwill on Earth, the way you seek for what connects us all.
I know your seeking. I feel it. I hold it within a sacred corner of my soul. We meet there often, you and I.
In that corner, it is damp with adoration. In that corner, the love between us is so tangible that it forms actual molecules. These are molecules with a pink and golden glow, they are everywhere, and they are delicious.
In that corner, we do not have to speak of the holiness that we find in one another. It enwraps us.
In that corner, we cannot deny the invisible threads that move from our individual life out into our collective field and back into our life again. These are the threads that form the web of our world, the interconnected force that sews us into a holy pattern — intricate and glorious.
I know the ways you long to heal, to work alongside the invisible kingdom to bring divine light to the minds of all people.
I have read your beautiful words, over and over. They implant into the soil of my belly and sprout from my heart out into the world again. Together, we whisper madly, back and forth, of our magnificent ability to love, our fathomless capacity for compassion.
But where, my darling ones, have we gone wrong? While deeply in love with you, I wish at times to submit my resignation from our clan.
I cannot fathom our disregard for sacred life, the stripping of our soil, our cruelty towards other species, our over-consumption as our brothers and sisters starve and search for water.
I can no longer swallow the tragedies of our time — tragedies caused by none other than ourselves.
I abhor weapons. We made them — machines with no other purpose but to harm and destroy.
I weep for our combined destiny. I fall to the ground before you and beg for peace. I wonder how love can be so close and yet so far from our interactions with ourselves, others and the world around us.
I watch as we project our shadow and darkness onto one another, creating a vacuum of consciousness for a larger darkness to enter and take possession.
On July 18, 2014, millions of South Africans and global citizens spent 67 minutes working for the good of others. The duration was to symbolize the 67 years the late Nelson Mandela spent fighting for peace, equality and social justice. Beautiful we are, indeed.
On July 18, 2014, I read of a passenger plane shot down the day prior by a missile, killing 298 of our clan. The bodies of children and our own people in pieces, out in the sun, unattended. Disgusting we are, indeed.
I do not know how to hold this contradiction within me.
All I can do is bleed. And fall to my knees. And ask for each of us whose blood pours out of a ripped heart to collect it all in a bucket, together.From this bucket, perhaps, we can begin transfusions of love, until everyone is infected.
We must inject it deeply — through writing, praying, reflecting, character-building, meditation, teaching, service, tithing, and loving more than we ever thought possible.
It is not enough to collect the blood, we must inject it into the physical world.
Now is the time to ask ourselves — how can I inject love deeply into the world? Now is the time to hold one another accountable — how can you inject love deeply into the world?
When one of us dies unjustly at the hand of another, a part of each of us withers away. When one of us goes hungry, a part of all of us starves. When we lock away our capacity for compassion, a part of each of us hardens.
But, this also works the other way, my darling. When we soften, a part of each of us softens. When I write this plea for peace, you are written into the words.
Beloved ones, this is a letter from your lover. I adore you, but beg for your unfolding.
Pour the precious blood from your distended heart into our bucket, grab your needle and begin finding receptive places that need your infusions of love.
There is never a shortage to draw from. Our combined well is infinite. And this is our work. The world is sick. I need your aid. And you need mine. And we need ours.
I love you madly, always,