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Our Very Flesh

That hate. Does it hold your hand, comfort you, dry your tears? Will it make love with you in the warm dark of a July night when all is anguish and you need to feel life truth hope whispered against the skin of your neck? Has it served you meals when you are hungry and wrapped you in blankets when you are cold?

We are children of the tribe, bound by the circle of light cast by our campfire, enraptured by the stories we share and nourished by the food we gathered and prepared while we sang. The darkness presses. There are dangers out there in the wilderness but we are here, together, sustained.

Fire

We are made of stardust (literally) and sunlight (indirectly) and ocean and rocks and rain. Everything that is, has always been, forming and reforming. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. Separateness is a story we tell until we believe it so well we can wear it around ourselves like armor.

Don’t we look foolish, wearing armor around the campfire? We are connected in our very flesh, with each other, with the earth and water and sky.

Tonight, when twilight is coming to a close, take off your shoes and go outside. Feel the ground under your feet and the air on your skin. Turn your face to the blue-dark sky and breathe. We are in the circle of firelight together, breathing the same air and standing on the same ground. Open your arms wide and

just

      let

           go.

There is no other, no them. Welsh, Afghani, American, Moroccan, Mexican, and Indonesian, we breathe the same air. Atheist, Hindi, Scientologist, Buddhist, Christian, and Muslim, we are warmed by the same sun. Shooter’s mother and victim’s mother, we drink the same water. Shooter and victim, someone grieves for us. Fat and thin, we are nourished by the earth. Lesbian, heterosexual, transgender, asexual, and queer, we are human.

Hate will never warm our beds or slake our thirst.

Come closer to the campfire and tell us a story. Share our food and wine. Sing with us.

We will all be healed, together.

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