There are only unsympathetic synonyms listed for the word Destruction. I take for granted this is due to humankind’s experience—throughout time—of the word itself. So, you may ask, why should I care about the WORD DESTRUCTION? It is, isn’t it, just a word for heaven’s sake?
Well, if we’ve been hanging around Mother Earth for any time at all, we’ve experienced destruction to our psyche due to: wars: religion; poverty; hatred; cover-ups; family; hunger; fear; health; greed; death of those we love; power, and our own self-destruction.
It is honestly Destruction by Self that is at the depth of my sorrow for humankind. This loss is the hardest to tolerate—while it happens and forever afterwards. Of course, there are specialists who treat and can help; also if allowed. There is prayer. But, thus far, you and I were not endowed with an ability to save another if they are dedicated to self-destruction.
Save is a word that means to set aside. Perhaps we should set aside the act to save another until we have rescued ourselves.
I was nine when it happened. It was a day like any summer’s day—outside playing with my doll of many years. I named her that because every Christmas Eve my parents bathed her and gently combed her ringlets then slipped on a new dress my mother sewed in secret. But this Christmas—back again in her original doll box—was also a set of white, petite doll skates.
But back to that summer’s day: Doll in hand, I headed to the two forts my brother’s had constructed opposite one another in the alleyway. It had never before been a danger zone so I stepped in the middle to—yet again—show off my doll’s skates. WHISH! A tin can flew by and a second followed quickly from the opposite fort. The first missed! The second—filled with small rocks and soil—hit square atop my head. I SCREAMED as the blood gushed out and threw my doll aside to save her.
Mother, her dishtowel in hand, came screaming toward me and tried to stop the spewing blood; to no avail. Dad and car were at work—Mother didn’t drive anyway—but she did add a large towel to my gusher and kept her hand hard atop my head as we walked the eight blocks to the doctor who immediately clamped the skin tightly together. The scar: well it’s still there.
On that day my brothers and parents and sizeable family gathered to both see my scar and help me heal from it. Ah, but the scars added since—those they cannot see—are mine alone to heal. It would sure be nice to have my doll of many years to lend a hand.
It’s close to the time when families gather to honor their traditions and their faith. A time for remembering our past: the good and the not-so-good. I was wondering if within the spirit of this season I might somehow find a way to awaken without fear.
Yet, I have reasons to feel anxious because our world is spinning—literally and figuratively. A shift really that I can neither gauge its length nor its intensity. It is in this sense of place that I find my fear escalating to all the WHAT IFS of life. I cannot trust my used-to-be solutionsbecause they no longer exist. Add to that millions of social media outlets (my blog too) that paint countless genre of mankind’s plight.
Awaken is a word that means: rouse, develop, wake—so herein begins my answer. Like Hansel and Gretel I will first drop white stones to find my way home: Faith, Family, Tradition and Remembering. However, cast off a second time was dreadful for Hansel and Gretel. So I must be careful and drop more than just breadcrumbs to awaken.