I can't get the images out of my mind: The elderly Ukrainian woman standing shaken outside of her house as she awaited someone, anyone, to come and take the body of the woman who had fallen through her roof and onto the floor next to her bed. The eleven year old boy, covered in blood and with life-threatening injuries, crying out for his father, who had just been rescued from beneath the rubble of his home in Gaza City. The AIDS researcher's memorial photograph along with an exhaustive list of his discoveries and the lives he'd touched. There are more: the woman who hadn't been home for five years whose family was waiting for her to celebrate Eid, the nun who had dedicated herself to justice work, the entire family lying motionless after the bombs rained down.
Each of these bodies held a life. Each represented a sacred creativity that was completely unique and yet whose very cells came from the same source-- water, air, fire, earth. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen.
As I read about these people, these bodies, I am very much aware of my own body. On Saturday, I will participate in my first half-ironwoman triathlon. It takes place in Sonoma, CA whose terrain and temperatures, I'm not very familiar with. As I anticipate what it will look and feel like, I'm trying to breathe deeply and eat the right foods and get enough sleep. I'm trying to stay calm and centered. In short, I'm trying to stay focused on this body that holds my life.
But this intense self-focus makes me recognize even more deeply how connected these bodies we inhabit are. The reasons for the conflicts are deeply complex, rooted in centuries of mistrust. But somehow, the simplicity of shared carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, the concrete reality of shared breath and ocean and sky make me want to use this life, this body, this story to find small and large ways to witness to older and deep truths. Like love's power over death. Like justice's creativity. Like armed power's weakness in the face of non-violent resistance.
Each of these bodies held a life. Each represented a sacred creativity that was completely unique and yet whose very cells came from the same source-- water, air, fire, earth. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen.
As I read about these people, these bodies, I am very much aware of my own body. On Saturday, I will participate in my first half-ironwoman triathlon. It takes place in Sonoma, CA whose terrain and temperatures, I'm not very familiar with. As I anticipate what it will look and feel like, I'm trying to breathe deeply and eat the right foods and get enough sleep. I'm trying to stay calm and centered. In short, I'm trying to stay focused on this body that holds my life.
But this intense self-focus makes me recognize even more deeply how connected these bodies we inhabit are. The reasons for the conflicts are deeply complex, rooted in centuries of mistrust. But somehow, the simplicity of shared carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, the concrete reality of shared breath and ocean and sky make me want to use this life, this body, this story to find small and large ways to witness to older and deep truths. Like love's power over death. Like justice's creativity. Like armed power's weakness in the face of non-violent resistance.
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