Something beyond words is called for. Something underneath them.
The way my favourite five year-old sings the subtext of her mind when she knows it's not okay to say these things out loud. She sings them to herself in her quiet voice, so that maybe someone will hear what she wants or fears.
I have zero interest in any definition of football. I've tried. The World Cup frenzy bypasses me.
Yesterday's fever-pitch only made me want to sing in my quiet voice:
What about the Real-World Cup?
What about Israel v. Palestine?
Syria v. Syria?
What about the results of the group with Egypt, Tunisia, Afghanistan, Our Girls, Iraq?
The world is full. All the time. With everything. It is very much about where you place focus. No one should be denied the opportunities that exist to focus on joy, or laughter.
But the contrast between faux-gladiator battle that is the World Cup and the battles going on in the real world was too glaring to dismiss. There is something blessedly simple in a sports match-up we can never achieve in actual situations of conflict. That is probably part of their appeal: resolution by rules.
Where are the rules for these conflicts, the maps for our new ways of living, the street signs for compassionate activism?
It's all a bit daunting.
All I've got, for all of this, is meditation, silence, a mantra.
May we all carry peace in our hearts
#np Lambchop - Flick - Is a Woman
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