I woke up to the news of a loss, a life taken, shot and silenced. A shocker but this is not a first of its kind, and it will most likely not be the last as human history moves on. This incident has happened many miles away from my home. But, even in my own homeland the barrel has spoken on many occasions and has silenced voices that dared to rise above their own interest and seek the good of others, voices that did not intersect with the standard opinions; not listened to, but silenced as the barrel spoke This incident has set in motion various responses. From grief and horror, to celebration, ridicule and mockery. The latter responses are the ones that have left me shaken and angry How infuriatingly quick we are to celebrate death in our prejudice! How foolishly bold we are to bid good riddance rather than see the crime? Why? Just because our thoughts did not meet? Free expression, they say, and yet those who differ do not seem to enjoy that freedom. Two people may not see eye to eye...
What does hope look like? In a conference, we were each given play clay and asked to shape an object that symbolized hope for us as individuals. Everyone set to work with much excitement. Most of us a little unsure about the task, looking around at what the early starters were making, some small discussions and giggling as we each set to decide on an object to shape. Eventually, we all finished and with much delight looked at what each of us crafted. Hope may appear different from person to person but having hope is a shared phenomenon. Losing hope is also a sad reality, but that is for another time. Our symbols of hope may also change as we grow and gain richer and deeper experience in life. One of the poems that I now resonate with a little more is William Butler Yeats' A Prayer For My Daughter . I look at this as a prayer of hope that Yeats expresses for his daughter as a storm, symbolising a chaotic world she would grow up in, rages on. Like Yeats, I have the joy of being a fa...