On Returning to Listology...

I've been away from Listology for quite a few months now. I've been rather busy. My wife and I took a trip to Paris, and upon return, I grew quite ill with some foreign virus no doctor was able to pin down. After recovery, we moved, and my wife started working on her PhD. I've also working through a number of changes in my life.

And now this...

I'm not sure how to deal with all the horror we have seen and felt lately. As I mentioned to one member of this site in a private email, I watch television, see a heartbreaking story about a victim, and then realize I have no idea how to multiple that sadness by the thousands. We have tried to appear strong, but when viewing the burnt-out and hollow remains of one of the towers, I can't help but feel like I'm seeing America, scorched and gutted. We've had our hearts and many loved ones ripped from us.

Those of us who find comfort in some sort of faith have found little lately to truly ease our hearts. In fact, I fear our faith has been radically shaken. We not only must deal with the growing, gnawing sense of loss that has scarred our souls forever, we must also accept the fact that it was not a hatred for freedom, but a sadly perverted fanatical belief of some individuals that they were performing the will of God by crushing so many lives in flames, concrete, and steel. We all, believers and non-believers alike, have probably had our world questioned and tried in ways we hoped it never would be. We must rebuild new ways of seeing our lives, ways that sadly must find a way to incorporate and to accept the sad, sad events we have recently been struggling with. We have to live knowing that the heart-breaking scenes we have seen were very, very real, and that the stories of unspeakable loss we hear are not told by actors, but by our friends and neighbors, our brothers and sisters in the human family.

There is doubt, there is fear, there is anger, and beneath it all, for those who believe as I believe, there is that damn idea that we at our best and highest learn to forgive and to love our enemies. I ashamedly admit that I cannot yet do this, that I'm not really sure how to forgive and love those who have rained down so much hell on so many.

Even in my anger, however, I know the difference, like I hope and pray most of us do, between those who planned and executed this horrid operation and those who did not. Not all people of Arabian heritage are Muslims, and I know first-hand that not all Muslims believe that Allah or God calls us to kill those who live outside of the Muslim faith. We must not punish more innocent victims in the aftermath of Tuesday. There is enough hatred and pain for a lifetime in the remains of wrecked planes and collapsed buildings.

A phrase, I've no idea where it is from, has been echoing in my mind as of late. "If our loss is so great, it is only because we have been given so much."

I have spent many hours in front of my television or sitting at work lately fighting back tears and grief. I have not always been successful. This morning, however, I remembered the last time before Tuesday I cried. It was in the Musee d'Orsay in Paris, standing in front of the awe-inspiring colors, joy and life of Renoir's Bal du Moulin de la Galette and the genius of Monet's Cathedrale de Rouen series. I was shocked by a sense of intelligence and beauty in these works, which are never done justice by the many pictures I have often seen of both.

How odd that we weep at both life and death, beauty and horror.

After seeing some of the worst images of humanity's brutality and evil, our most vile works, I think it is important to remind myself of some of our greatest works, works of art and life. While it is not realistic to see only the good in life, it is just as foolish to see only the terrible. Right now, I need to remember just how great we can be, that despite our love for destruction, we also have an intense adoration of creation. I need to remember that humanity has not only caused those terrible, black holes in America, but also the blurred faces and joyous colors of Renoir.

I've also remembered the delicious tears I shed at my wedding, and the precious love we feel and express that often gets overlooked when faced with such hatred. Our relationships with those we love are also minor miracles showing what wonders we are capable of.

So I am returning at last to Listology, to remember so much of the art that often expresses so much of the best of us. I hope to read, write, and even debate these wonderfully artificial and cobbled sounds, images, and words, and to recall the shining streams of liquid gold that I have often tasted pouring from them. The shimmering river is full of water that delights and sustains, even when the taste may at times be bitter.

I hope to remember the better portion that sometimes struggles up from the heart of our very human race.