Thinking about the news, the children underfed and shivering on cement floors. We want to be able to buy a plane ticket, go to one of those places, wave aside the guards, open the doors, take the kids out, give them a good meal and a gentle hug, and find their relatives and reunite them. None of which we can do. We know the list of things we can do and it seems paltry and measly compared with the enormity of the badness. I tell myself, this is what it means to be infantry, though. This is what it means to be not a hero but part of the tidal wave that shatters the wall. We just have to keep on going. (And if people have novel ideas, share them around)
One of my kids in Japan took some pictures of lotuses. So beautiful.
... We don't know how things are going to end or how people will understand the story in years and centuries to come. But we can take care of each other, and others, and tend the garden, metaphorically and literally.
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