A distinct memory accompanied each poster, concert ticket and postcard I removed from the walls of my childhood bedroom. At twelve years old I started to create a massive collage with the walls that would eventually take up every inch of space covering multiple layers that lasted until the day I moved out on my own.
My parents had finally sold their house that I grew up in just ten minutes from Center City Philadelphia. The gargantuan dismantling efforts to clear my bedroom had begun and I started to become overwhelmed. It was true, most of the things in the room I didn’t need. My apartment already had everything deemed essential, but I decided I would keep the concert and airline tickets and postcards and books, of course. Continue reading “Destiny” »
“Why do you do these things?” Aldonza vehemently exclaimed. Several days earlier this man had entered their little town doing the most peculiar things.
Puzzled, Don Quixote replied, “What things?”
“These ridiculous … the things you do!”
“I hope to add some measure of grace to the world,” he said softly but with a strength she had never encountered before.
“The world’s a dung heap and we are maggots that crawl on it!”
Don Quixote answered with compassion, “My lady knows better in her heart.”
An apathetic comfortable conformity to the society in which one lives is the most subtle form of unconscious slavery. It’s nothing short of a suppression of the truth and of the abundant life.
When people (westerners) think of “the front lines” of battle or hardship, they often picture places that lack physical comfort and development, where wars, crime and terrorism reign and poverty dominates. Places like Syria, Afghanistan, Venezuela, South Sudan and Northern Uganda come to mind. Maybe one pictures the impoverished people living in the slums of Nairobi in Kenya or Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Truly this is where the wars are being fought, right? Continue reading “The Front Lines” »