My country gears up for another bit of heartbreak.
We have forgotten the deadly folly of our past mistakes.
We ignore the depths of our ignorance.
Soon we will launch multi-million dollar missiles into another country so that they know we are serious about them not killing their people.
The great wheels are in motion.
There seems to be little I can do. Prayer, after all, has not worked in this arena for millennia. I could go hold a sign somewhere and bear the drive-by derision of my war-loving fellow citizens. That hasn't helped slow things down either. And so - in times like these - helplessness, hopelessness and a deep sadness are faithful companions.
What does help is hanging with William Stafford - poet and CO in WWII (and almost lynched for his troubles).
Watch our smoke curdle up out of the chimney
into the canyon channel of air.
The wind shakes it free over the trees
and hurries it into nothing.
Today there is more smoke in the world
than ever before.
There are more cities going into the sky,
helplessly, than ever before.
The cities today are going away into the sky,
and what is left is going into the earth.
That is what happens when a city is bombed:
Part of that city goes away into the sky,
And part of that city goes into the earth.
And that is what happens to people when
a city is bombed:
Part of them goes away into the sky,
And part of them goes into the earth.
And what is left, for us, between the sky and the earth
is a scar.
~ William Stafford - Los Prietos, 20 January 1944 ~