How peculiar it feelsto speak abouthealth care in Americataking care of people’shealthwhile our governmentbombsthe limbsoff childrenin faraway lands.And starves and imprisonsnot a few of themat home. How oddthat it seemsnot obviously knownthat true health caremust mean, at minimum,deliberate non-harmingof anyone?

My friend says to me:But what can we do? Already giving up.To be aware is already something,I say. Consciousness rarelyleaves us unmoved. Or unmoving.And so it is with this revelationof what has been happeningto our children, all of them,and especially to our boys.The beast in so-calledcivilized manis more lethal, sinister,grotesque and cunningthan I would have believed:And what is it, anyhow, this beast?How does it manifestin every age to plague our republicfrom shadowsit projectsas light?

Some realities drive us to our kneesand since I was therealreadybefore my altarI unwrapped and litthe beeswax candlesI acquired for you.

Is Celie actually ugly?Asks the charismatic star playing heron Broadway.How many times over the yearsI have explainedthis.Celie and her “prettier” sister Nettieare practically identical.They might be twins.But Life has forced on Celieall the hardshipsNettie mostly avoids....Endless labor that woulddemean and soon obliteratethe observable lovelinessof the most queenly slave.I wanted us to think abouthow superficial is our understandingof beauty; but, also, how beautyis destroyed.

There is a way forward and yes it is with a broken heartbut it is our own waycollectively convened,pondered,shared.

In our despair that justice is slowwe sit with heads bowedwonderinghoweven whether we will ever be healed.Perhaps it is a questiononly the ravagedthe violatedseriously ask.And is that not nowalmost all of us?But hope is on the way.As usual Hope is a womanherding her childrenaround herall she retains of whoshe was; as usualexcept for her kidsshe has lost almost everything.Hope is a woman who has lost her fear.

If I could bethe mother of WindI would blow all fearaway from you. If I could bethe mother of WaterI would wash out the paththat frightens you. If I were the motherof TreesI would plantmy tallest childrenaround your feetthat you mightclimbbeyond all danger.But alas,I am onlya mother of humanswhose magic powershave vanishedsince we allowour littlest onesto face injusticesuffering & the unholiestof terrorsalone.

How do we make newand restorative of soulthe old pain? How do we learnto carry with grace and humorall that has happened to us?

We will never regret having been born in this cruel time for we recognize it for what it is: the time of fullness of heart.