I wish that I had answers.
Reading through all the news about the attacks in Paris, and processing as fast as my heart will allow, I realize that I do not know the way to peace.
Although I have often quoted these words, and I believe them on a cellular level—“there is no way to peace, peace is the way“—my soul weeps because I wonder how this can be applied globally and practically.
I wish to remain naïve about this subject and cling to those words as if they could save us.
Perhaps one day…
Here is what I know for sure—
Every day, women are being raped and children are brutalized—and I can do little about it.
Every day, Palestinians suffer, Israeli’s suffer and Syrians suffer—and someone is being tortured as we speak.
Every day, Africans starve to death, and “First Nations” peoples struggle to escape their history.
Every day, “First World” children go hungry, and their mothers cry bitter tears. The list goes on…
Every day, I shut out these things and focus on love, because that is the one thing I have to offer—but is this enough?
When normally peaceful countries come under attack, we pay attention—because it is thrown in our face that hate and war are prevalent everywhere, and we are not immune. Somehow, the privilege of the peace we enjoy is so sacred, that we expect to always be in its shadow.
But there is no peace when our brothers and sisters are dying. It is only an illusion. We are either all in or all out. Gone are the days when we could shut out the world and go on blithely, as if it was a problem for someone else.
We need each other to make this planet a better place.
There is one man whose words continue to remind me that love is the only way. I have listened to John Lennon’s song “Imagine” more times than I can count, when all hope seemed lost.