In the Wake . . .

Hello,

Yesterday I, like so many of us, arrived home to the horrific news of the terrorist attacks in Paris France.  My mind is flooded as the horror of it all begins to penetrate my thoughts.

How is it that just a mere two days prior, ceremonies had been held to honour the dead that had fought and fallen for our freedom and yet here were the people of Paris losing theirs? How is that we have come to a place where silent wars are waged arriving like thieves in the night robbing us of our most basic rights and freedoms?

I think back to the remembrance day ceremonies . . . the soldiers names that were called and remembered, of those who had fought and fallen and I begin to think some more.  Were there not others who paid the ultimate price for freedom whose names were not read . . . whose lives were not marked?   What about the lives of the men, women and children that the cowardly wars called terrorism . . . religious intolerance and racism have claimed throughout our world?

Some will be remembered at different memorial services on other days but in my mind the only difference that separates the dead of those wars and the wars of today . . . is the knowing.

The knowing that as you step out your door on this day . . . you are walking into a war.   The difference that because of that knowing, you think to hold your loved one’s hand one last time and drink in the memories because you know they might be your last. The knowing that you need to wrap your child tightly in your arms and whisper a thousand times over, “I love you and ‘ll love you forever.”  The difference of knowing that as you step out your door, you are walking into a war. . .  a war you were called to or chose to fight.

Todays wars (terrorism, religious intolerance and racism) will continue to be waged around the world until such time as acceptance and tolerance become the moral fibre of this torn and battered world of ours. It is a war each of us must fight on a daily basis. (“Our lives are a sum total of the choices we have made.” ~ Wayne Dyer)

My heart goes out to the people of Paris and to all those who have suffered before them.

Poem by Karuna Ezara Parikh

Poem by Karuna Ezara Parikh

With Great Sorrow,

Bev

NaBloPoMo November 2015

4 thoughts on “In the Wake . . .

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