September 11: And life goes on
Kristen Lindquist
Like most people, I remember where I was ten years ago, right about this time of day. I have vivid memories that I'll never be able to shake of scenes from the Twin Towers before I couldn't bear to watch any more, and shared with the rest of the country the shock and horror long after. It's been ten years, which seems so hard to believe.
Today, the Dalai Lama exhorts us to meditate on the destructiveness of hatred, so I choose to honor the memories of all those who were lost on this tragic day by embracing the mundane events of this beautiful morning--a morning very similar to that one ten years ago. If we love the every day, we will value it. If we focus on what we value in this way, love will overcome hatred.
In my neighborhood, a conclave of house finches has invaded my bird feeder, chirping wildly. A group of titmice rasps in a nearby oak. A nuthatch beeps in the background, punctuated by the cardinal's insistent chip note. Now a blue jay's jeer, returned by another jay way down the street. The sun shines of my front step, where I sit to write this still wearing my pajamas and a sweater. My neighbor's children are playing in the street with some inflatable ball things, reminding me of scenes from my childhood on a street not too far away. "I caught it, guys!" shouts the youngest child excitedly, over and over, the one girl among a pack of boys.
My husband and I have just had our coffee and tea respectively. Later this morning, a friend is coming to repair and paint our porch. The river burbles out back. Crickets chirp, something I notice each time the birds quiet down. Later, I'll go for a run. I'll read a book. My neighbors are out on their front step intensely discussing touch football strategy. Tonight an almost full moon will rise. Life goes on. That, to me, seems like the best way to defeat the fear and hatred the terrorists hoped to invoke with their attacks. If we can find some small peace in the moment, we have overcome.
Remembering fear.
Yet still we love this flawed world--
sunshine's glare, birdsong.
Today, the Dalai Lama exhorts us to meditate on the destructiveness of hatred, so I choose to honor the memories of all those who were lost on this tragic day by embracing the mundane events of this beautiful morning--a morning very similar to that one ten years ago. If we love the every day, we will value it. If we focus on what we value in this way, love will overcome hatred.
In my neighborhood, a conclave of house finches has invaded my bird feeder, chirping wildly. A group of titmice rasps in a nearby oak. A nuthatch beeps in the background, punctuated by the cardinal's insistent chip note. Now a blue jay's jeer, returned by another jay way down the street. The sun shines of my front step, where I sit to write this still wearing my pajamas and a sweater. My neighbor's children are playing in the street with some inflatable ball things, reminding me of scenes from my childhood on a street not too far away. "I caught it, guys!" shouts the youngest child excitedly, over and over, the one girl among a pack of boys.
My husband and I have just had our coffee and tea respectively. Later this morning, a friend is coming to repair and paint our porch. The river burbles out back. Crickets chirp, something I notice each time the birds quiet down. Later, I'll go for a run. I'll read a book. My neighbors are out on their front step intensely discussing touch football strategy. Tonight an almost full moon will rise. Life goes on. That, to me, seems like the best way to defeat the fear and hatred the terrorists hoped to invoke with their attacks. If we can find some small peace in the moment, we have overcome.
Remembering fear.
Yet still we love this flawed world--
sunshine's glare, birdsong.