Most peculiar, Mama

I just want you to know that I had brilliant, brilliant posts running through my head all damned day long. And then I actually found the time to sit down and write, and--POOF! Gone, daddy, gone. Oh well.

I haven't really said anything about London. It's upsetting, obviously, and tragic, and awful. And for me, having lived there during the Gulf War and the IRA bombing of Victoria Station, very ... I don't know. Strange, in a way I can't describe. I remember being late to get to Clapham Junction, and then getting there and it being just a mass of people and no train and then hearing what had happened, and trying to get all the way across London by bus. Planting the bomb on that bus, that, I think, was especially horrible. The friends I have there are safe, thankfully, but I'm just so saddened by violence, and by the diatribes against the villainous "them". I can't help but believe that all this "us" and "them" is what puts us all in the middle of this shit in the first place. It's easy to demonize a faceless enemy, a "them" that has no heart. And once people start losing those they love, it becomes harder and harder to break out of the cycle of revenge. All I can do is find kindnesses to put out into the world, I think, and breathe, do tonglen, pray, love as much as I can, try not to live in anger. Try to see people, and not shadows. In some small way, maybe that will help. I don't know.