I was driving back from the grocery store this morning and the bay was so clean and lucent. The Miami skyline was reflected in a blue mirror of water. I wanted to stop and take a picture but I had already taken off my latex gloves and sprayed the steering wheel down with Lysol. So I watched the city out of the corner of my eyes. In my entire life, I have never seen the bay water that still and pristine. How can I notice beauty without offending those who are suffering?
As a child, I used to think that nature mocked human tragedy with these moments of awful beauty. After the Battle of Gettysburg, the birds sang the next morning...while thousands of soldiers writhed and moaned in the mud. Flowers bloomed after humans vacated Chernobyl. In the middle of a flu pandemic, the skies clear and the water turns into prisms. I used to imagine that nature was telling us 'you see how beautiful the world is without your pollution, without your noise, without your greed, anger, and cruelty. You see how much better the world would be without your presence.'
Eventually, I decided that wasn't what nature was saying. Then I thought that these scenes were just a sign of the world's indifference. Your wife dies and the neighbors are partying next door because. They already bought all the supplies and made the plans. Your loss wasn't part of their plans and while it's sad that your love is dead...these cold cuts are going to spoil. I thought God and nature was like that next-door neighbor that said 'sorry for your loss but can my friends park on your lawn?' Now I don't know what these scenes say to me. I just know I have to listen. Maybe that is the prayer: to hold all this fear and terror and hope and beauty in the same space...and breath.
As a child, I used to think that nature mocked human tragedy with these moments of awful beauty. After the Battle of Gettysburg, the birds sang the next morning...while thousands of soldiers writhed and moaned in the mud. Flowers bloomed after humans vacated Chernobyl. In the middle of a flu pandemic, the skies clear and the water turns into prisms. I used to imagine that nature was telling us 'you see how beautiful the world is without your pollution, without your noise, without your greed, anger, and cruelty. You see how much better the world would be without your presence.'
Eventually, I decided that wasn't what nature was saying. Then I thought that these scenes were just a sign of the world's indifference. Your wife dies and the neighbors are partying next door because. They already bought all the supplies and made the plans. Your loss wasn't part of their plans and while it's sad that your love is dead...these cold cuts are going to spoil. I thought God and nature was like that next-door neighbor that said 'sorry for your loss but can my friends park on your lawn?' Now I don't know what these scenes say to me. I just know I have to listen. Maybe that is the prayer: to hold all this fear and terror and hope and beauty in the same space...and breath.
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