Love, love, love

The injections in my back have been administered by a highly-skilled physician using miraculous-seeming technology, and at the moment I have no pain at all. It’s a welcome break, even if it is short-lived, though I’m hopeful the relief will last for a few months. What privilege! Not only do I have as much clean water as I want, food, safe shelter, and nobody trying to kill or rape me, but I also have medical care and access to advanced technology. Other old people in other places and in earlier times would think themselves in heaven to have what I have.

I walked home from the hospital and did not need to sit down immediately (amazing). I stood at the window (standing without pain! that miracle) gazing into the mystery of fog. My gratitude is boundless.

This morning a Jewish rabbi friend of mine posted on Instagram, “Why do we not talk about the Sudanese genocide? Why is everybody so upset about Palestine but nobody ever talks about Sudan? Don’t Black lives still matter?” Of course they matter. Genocide and famine in Sudan, Darfur, Yemen, Tigray. Rape as a weapon of war. Colonial forces greedy for lithium, cobalt, gold, oil, real estate: willing to kill anyone who stands in their way. Our hearts sag and break, and we go on living. We observe holidays with old traditions. 

We wake in our comfortable beds and are grateful for another day of life. We use the toilet and flush it, turn on a faucet and wash our hands and faces in warm water. We brush our teeth and rinse them with clean, safe water. We shuffle into the kitchen and turn on the kettle. All this time, others are suffering. We do what little we can do to help. Phone calls, emails, rallies, marches, donations. We gaze on beloved children and imagine grieving their deaths as people grieve in other places. Our hearts stretch wide and our brains cannot hold it all. We send love, love, love. 

The children of my beloved child Palesa are prospering, thanks to the kindness of strangers who donated to their Go-Fund-Me after she died in July, 2021. Their Auntie sent me thanks via WhatsApp for a little money I sent by Xoom for their Christmas presents, and she attached photos. Extras.

Your responses to my post of December 18, with the poem by Refaat Alareer, move me to tears. We’re all kites, bringing back love wherever we can.