Sunday Morning ~ Justice
Litsipa lomva cozo mphini anatema kadzidzi. ~ The headache hurts the sparrow, but they made the incisions on the owl.
June 7, 2020
Hopelessness is the enemy of justice. I find myself repeating Bryan Stevenson’s words on a regular basis these days. Are people born with his fortitude? Where does this quality come from––this trait that can shine an inner light through any kind of hideous slime? It sprouts from which aspect of one’s being? Is it genetic? Or did his mother do something really, really right?
I feel the same way about Obama. I watched him speak this week at the town hall put on by My Brother’s Keeper. I listened to his unique voice, his characteristic delivery, his words that instantly calmed me, and I wondered, is he a prophet? But maybe prophet is not the right word, because I don’t mean he can foresee the future, not a second coming or anything like that. Nor do I believe he is flawless. I mean more like he is the one who enters the room and makes everyone feel better. It feels like the ambulance or fire department finally arrived. I can breathe again. His reassurances are not contrived. I watched and marveled at the depth of his power. I can see why the old white establishment (republicans) were so scared of him. They could have listened and learned. Instead, they chose to soil themselves. What fools.
It’s June. My twins turned thirty-four this week.The year they were born the Space Shuttle Challenger blew up. The Iran -Contra affair became public and was living out in technicolor. Oliver North jokes were a dime a dozen. The nuclear reactor at Chernobyl exploded and threatened to wipe out Europe. The US bombed Libya. It seemed like the end of the world and I was bringing two more innocent children into it. And now all that seems like a six year old’s birthday party. Quaint. Little white lies. The outrage became a side show whose attendance dwindled into resignation and apathy.
This week the panic that had fermented into more of a brine of apprehension started fizzing again. Then I listened to Obama, I watched Just Mercy, I read several articles from those abandoning the sinking ship, deleted a few of my brother’s comments on my Facebook page, and started feeling better. I now read words written by the far right and my thoughts shift from “Oh my God, how can someone believe this?” to “Oh my God, they see the writing on the wall. They backed the wrong horse.” Their words are that desperate. Something has shifted. The point is tipping and it’s happening fast.
Eight years ago, in a different universe, I fretted over the June temperatures so the peonies would hold off their peak so they’d be in their glory for my daughter’s wedding. I used to worry about stuff like that. I wanted the lupine to be in bloom when family drove north for my kids’ graduations. That was actually something I thought about. Early this morning I walked around in the mist and looked at those peonies covered in tiny blossoms and thought they can bloom whenever they damn well please. I will enjoy their little explosions of beauty when they come. I can’t control any of it and I’m the only one who will see them.
It makes me think about what I can control and what I can’t. I can support my peonies so they don’t fall over but I can’t tell them when to bloom.
Love to all,