We human beings, given the lovely, strange gift of consciousness, can attempt to understand one another, can rejoice in the great variety and various hopes in the world. We can attempt to understand another's point of view, and the reasons why his or her opinions and feelings are not ours and make a kind of sense--and then we can choose to have not scorn but respect. We can choose to be more noticing, more helpful, less judging. Mostly, it often seems, we don't choose these ways.
I've given my life away to making stories and poems that often try to "enter in" to another's world. In a worldly sense, such a path is often considered a useless calling, but I feel strongly that it is useful in the realms of imagination and spirit that undergird our actions. So it's not surprising that I believe that the imaginative work of understanding others is essential and could help to transform our world--the fallen world--for the better. Perhaps my choices say that I am not, in the end, a particularly worldly person.
Down the street, a shooter is holed up in the old Smalley's Theatre, and the state police have encamped around him . . . The village of Cooperstown is on lockdown. Lots of tiny details about the tall man and two possible accomplices are filtering out to us, hunkered close by. Here and there, like pinpricks of light, people are praying that all concerned survive the darkness of the day.
Love one another. Peace on earth, good will to men.
