Every Note of Fire Sounds like…

Listen yet again…to the rapid heartbeats, to the panic, to the loss of life. Be it in a small town, a rural narrative or an inner city, an urban narrative. Every shot of fire initiates violence, contemplates one similar singular narrative—death. Listen to another news story, countless captioned words running across the screen. Even with the sound turned down, the miles in between, the tears are already etched in our ears. We know what pain sounds like: an aching louder than any bit of news report unfolding.

This most recent innocent loss of life to gun violence asks: are we now empty, desensitized, distant, cold, dismissive? Is this just one more incident of violence? Or are we paused, speechless, tearful, empathetic—reflective? Just months, weeks, hours ago I wept as the shaking voices of victims told us of death sketched at the end of a barrel in Chardon, Ohio, in Sanford and Jacksonville, Florida, in Chicago, Illinois, in Aurora, Colorado, in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, in Clackamas, Oregon. I wept as I read statistics about gun violence in the United States. I pause now at the news of Newtown, Connecticut. Pause while I wipe my tears, hug my young children, my tissue still moist from news of violence mourned a few nights ago, a few days ago, a few hours ago. This gun violence seems an ongoing blur, yet each life impacted from that violence matters.

While children all over this country rest their heads among the twinkling lights of candles, of pine, of bulbs hanging just out of reach, there seems this accompanying notion that our children are also just out of our reach. A father reflecting after the Newtown tragedy, seemed to say this, as he tried to describe what it was like walking toward this unforgiving narrative playing over and over again before us, between us, among us.

I imagine children; our little ones as they walk out the door, as we walk away from them, leave them among their peers, their tiny waving hands; their hugs around our knees, around our necks. No parent can ever imagine, should ever have to imagine parting at the foot of the classroom, in the doorway at home, in the parking lot at school, might mean goodbye forever.

This kind of violence is unacceptable on every human level, not fathomable, not the price any child, any innocent human being should pay for these curling metal flaws we call instruments, tools, we feel compelled to keep carelessly in our lives. Guns are, were created for one purpose—to end life—to silence. No matter how much we stir, color this narrative, dance around these news stories of violence; attempt not to look or to listen, every note of fire contemplates the end of life. Every note of fire sounds like death.

I encourage us to sound, look, act more like love.

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Categories: Writing

2 Comments on “Every Note of Fire Sounds like…”

  1. December 15, 2012 at 11:58 am #

    I’m having trouble finding words to describe my feelings about this event. You found beautiful ones. I am thinking about your bright-eyed little boys and sending love as far as it can reach. <3

    • December 15, 2012 at 12:03 pm #

      Thank you. Your sincerity, your outreach of love just brought a glossing of tears at how vulnerable we are as humans. More reflection…

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