i.lied.

I lied to my children today when i dropped them off at school. There eyes heavy with disappointment and the failure to understand that only children can feel which is worse then for adults because there is helplessness layered all through it. I lied to them and I said it would be ok.  And I reminded them, the best we can do today and always is try to be kind.  But that is a.lie too.  The best we can do is so much more then that and yet...and yet...we will fill pages of social media with rage and frustration for a few days, a week or two.  It will flare up periodically but on the whole we will return to.posts about cats and kids and trips and milestones. And why shouldn't we?  We can not be expected to live in a state of rage forever...and yet...and yet...isn't that where the change must grow from? It must come from a place that is no longer habitable. It must be wrestled and formed in pain and in hopelessness. And it must become something stronger then rage. It must become the thing that unites us. That collectively pulls us into the light. Because it will not be ok otherwise.

I lied to my children this morning. Because it is not their turn yet to hold that rage like a sword. There time will come but now it is up to us. Back against a wall, feet lost in quick sand to look inside and ask ourselves just how much we are willing to risk today, so our sons and daughters don't ever have to pick up that sword. And yet..it feels simpler to find a way to make this scorched earth home again, to build a nest in the highest branch and fortify the walls for the coming winter...and yet..

Sounds of summer

 The screams of childhood permeate my closed windows.  Did I once run between houses with my neighborhood friends as the summer nights, free from obligations, extended long past normal bedtimes?  My wish for them, is not just more nights when freeze tag erases petty arguments of the day, but also that they remember.  If not the exact players or game, but the feeling of being unburdened by what adulthood brings.  For a moment I consider opening my window to let in the evening breeze and their laughter.  But somehow I fear by doing so I will somehow shift to them some of the weight that I carry.  And just for one more night.  For one more summer.  For just a little longer, I want them to believe they are light enough to be carried up by a balloon.