What you feel is life, what you live is another story.

Tag: risk

The Threat of Our Lives

I heard a rumor. I heard we need to be locked inside. Why, I could not tell you, but its what I heard.

I don’t see any threat lurking outside my door. There isn’t a man with a gun or some foreign army dropping from the sky. In fact everything looks still; the stillest I’ve seen things look in my life. I see neighbors helping neighbors. There are couples holding hands and laughing as they walk their dogs down the street. They are laughing and enjoying each other in ways I’ve never noticed. Perhaps the distractions of convenience were the threat everyone is talking about? People certainly seem closer to each other now that they’ve become less distracted. It can’t be that bad.

One can’t help but notice how quiet the streets seem. I look out at the major thoroughfare and notice there aren’t that many cars. I’ve heard from many that the air is cleaner, that fewer cars driving to work and school and for their Sunday drives has cleaned up the air. Perhaps air pollution was the threat everyone is talking about? Certainly the cleaner air is safer for us all. Yeah, that could be it.

Not in my town, however. Someone told me that our air quality is still pretty low. According to what the science says, it has something to do with those fracking sites that dot our neighborhoods and the gasses they put out into our air. Maybe those wells are the threat we all need to run and hide from? Certainly breathing in those gasses can’t be good for any of us. Yeah, maybe that’s it.

An email just arrived from my local supermarket. Apparently they are running short on plastic bags and we all run the risk of not having plastic to put our groceries in. Would I happen to have reusable bags to bring instead? I smile. Of course I do. Maybe now I’ll see a lot less plastic bags floating everywhere I look. Perhaps we will not have those hard-to-recycle-easy-to-find-in-the-ocean bags not killing wildlife in the near future. Maybe those bags where the threat? Could be a possibility.

I have been, as many of my neighbors have been, working from home lately. Seems my employer didn’t really need me at the office. I can do everything right from the place I live, and I can still do it pretty well. Now, imagine if we invested in working remotely wherever possible? I wouldn’t have to drive to work every day. Perhaps that air that has gotten cleaner would stay clean. Maybe there’d be a lot less car accidents. Perhaps our cars would last longer. Maybe, just maybe, we could be a lot more productive and a lot less miserable in traffic? Perhaps outdated work methods are the threat? It’s worth considering.

Someone just told me that the waterways of Venice and many other areas are the cleanest they’ve been in recent history. I’ve heard nature is recovering some lost territory, getting closer to shorelines and coming up rivers they haven’t been in ages. I wonder what kept them away, and what they saw as a threat they needed to quarantine from? I wonder what is different now that rivers and streams and oceans are becoming cleaner. Maybe it’s the same thing that threatens the planet? It has to be worth discussing.

I’ve been going for hikes and trail runs. I stay away from people because, after all, I heard there is a threat out there. I have to keep a distance from others or I can face getting sick and dying. Yet I see more people out in nature than I’m used to. It’s a good thing nature gives us plenty of space to roam so I can still keep a distance and not have to lock myself in a box. I can’t help be amazed at how many people are outside with their families, walking, laughing, enjoying the cleaner air. Amazingly, there seems a lot less trash floating around even with the larger numbers of people. Maybe it’s the lack of trash bags. Or maybe its the fact that people are starting to like things cleaner. One can only hope.

They tell us it is a virus that is the threat to our world. It’s hard to imagine that something I can’t see, or smell, or feel, or taste can be so threatening to the planet. Especially when I see so many good things happening in spite of this virus. Neighbors helping neighbors. Couples holding hands and laughing with their dogs. People out in nature and not trashing her. Waterways getting cleaner. After all, I can see my friendly neighbors and those happy couples. I can smell the cleaner air. I can feel the good intentions of others, and I can taste the cleaner water I drink. Am I really more at risk today than I’ve ever been?

I do know is that people are dying because of this threat. That saddens me just as the death of people from air and water pollution does. I’m saddened by forced quarantines but not more than I am by the voluntary quarantines we’ve been placing ourselves in. I’m saddened by the threat of this virus, but not more saddened than I am by the threat of our trash, our pollution, and the distractions we create from each other. We’ve quarantined ourselves from ourselves, and lost touch with the very thing that makes us unique. Maybe we needed something to teach us what the real threat is and that after this virus subsides, we can put some effort into ending that threat. Perhaps that threat is Us.

If it is a threat to our planet it is certainly a threat to each of us. We are a major part of this wonderful Earth and once we realize that the greatest threat we face is not just an external virus but the virus of our thinking, perhaps we can find a cure and a vaccine for that as well.

I honor the moments of my life of which I have little control. I’ve learned to use those as opportunities to discover the best of myself. I cannot end this virus, or the threat it presents to those I love and those I’ve never met. What I can do, however, is use it as a way to discover something I did not know before and to use that discovery to better my life. That way, if I survive, it will not be a waste of life and loss.

Perhaps in that way the threat is not a threat at all. Perhaps it is just a lesson.

 

To Touch the Torch of Freedom (An Immigrant Tale)

He kept low in the bush, waiting for the Sun to set. Every so often he’d lift his head, checking to his left to see how far the Sun had moved. He had watched the Sun rise from this spot, and now was hoping this was the final sunset he’d see from this side of the line.

On the other side was the torch of freedom. All he wanted to do was carry it and share it with his little girl.

She had been amazing during this journey. Now she snuggled close to him, keeping quiet and low, barely making a sound. She had even urinated in her pants rather than tell her father she had to pee. It seemed she fully understood the gravity of the situation, realizing the hope that lay just a bit further north and a few hours away.

The Decision

Two weeks before his wife had been raped and murdered the local gang. The gang was in control of his neighborhood, having bribed the authorities and intimidated local politicians. Well-armed and well-funded, they were more of a militia than a street gang. They sold drugs and they killed rivals. Police officers who didn’t fall in line where found murdered in their patrol cars. The gang’s response to opposition was swift and deadly.

The villagers were poor and powerless, and often the gang would beat them, rape the woman and children, and murder anyone who stood up to them. The government was useless. The police were either bribed or killed for opposing them. It was a very dark time.

To the north, however, was a light of hope. Symbolized by a strong woman raising a burning torch, many had hoped to find the opportunity and liberation they had heard so much about. They only needed to make the journey. They only needed to risk life and limb to get there.

Legal channels were useless, and they all knew it. They neither had the money nor the understanding to navigate those waters. What they had, though, were two legs and the desire to get there. Few understood laws in their lawless land, but they understood suffering, the intense desire to escape and the value of freedom and opportunity.

The man had no choice but to stay. His wife was too sick, having nearly died giving birth to their 5-year old daughter.  One day, his wife went to the market and was attacked by some members of the gang. They held her down, taking turns brutalizing her. When finished, they slit her throat and left her to die in the weeds, where her husband found her that night.

Through his anger, he decided to leave. He knew vengeance would be certain death for him, and he would not intentionally orphan his daughter. Instead, he set his sights on that torch to the north, a light that promised freedom, opportunity, and rest for the huddled masses like them. He threw their few clothes and a picture of his wife in a backpack and began walking north. They had nothing left to lose.

The Journey

The journey to their hiding spot in the desert had been difficult. They’d walked for days and slept little under the rainy nighttime sky. He had blisters on his feet and his lips were cracked with thirst. He gave most of the water he had to his daughter, and had carried her most of the way. The rain at night would wash the caked dirt from their skin,  though the cold night air kept him awake. He would cover his daughter the best he could, trying desperately to keep her warm and dry.

A few days into their journey he had been beaten. People like him were targets for local thugs who believed they’d be carrying money for their escape, money he certainly did not have. They only owned the clothes they wore and the meager belongings stuffed into his backpack. They were so meager, in fact, that the thugs who’d beaten him didn’t want them, and they tossed the bag back untouched as he laid bloodied and submissive in the dirt. He had nothing anyone wanted.

He had heart, however, and that would see him through. That, and knowing his daughter was safe. At least for now.

To Touch the Torch of Freedom

The Sun was nearly at the horizon. The man whispered to his daughter that they would be moving soon.

“Papa,” she whispered, “then we cross the river?”

“Yes, mija. Soon we cross the river.”

“Then we touch the torch?”

“Then we touch the torch.”

“What does it look like Papa?”

He had told this story many times as they walked, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to tell it again. It had been a mantra they’d used through the danger and the exhaustion. It had gotten them to this point in their journey.

“First it looks like earth, much like where we are now. Then it looks like a good job in a safe neighborhood. Then it looks like good friends and good schools. It looks like being able to read, and write, and to know things. Good things, like how to help people and make your mother proud. It looks like making the most of the gift of freedom and of the opportunity God has given you.”

“Will we go to jail Papa?”

“Ah, mija,” said her father. “I hope not. We will just do our best, right?”

“Yes Papa.”

She hugged him. He could smell her mother on her and could see her mother smiling at him. This perilous journey was not just for him, but for his daughter as well. He could not let her live, or die, like her mother.

“Now let’s be quiet, mija. We have just a little way to go before we touch the torch for the first time.

She squeezed a bit tighter. She must have sense that the toughest part of this journey was yet to come.

The Destination

This story ends here, at that little line that separates the darkness from the light. It’s a line some wish to become a wall but I hope becomes a bridge.

I want to share the warm light of the torch I was blessed to be born under with those who were not so lucky; those who sacrifice and risk everything just for the chance to place their hand beside mine on its handle.

It would be easy for me to say that others must follow the legal path to enter this land. I just had to be born to be here so that statement would seem to be the purest form of privilege failing to understand its place. I fell from my mother’s womb right smack onto the destination and risked nothing to be here.

I am a human, as are those on the other side of the line. If I can’t reach my hand across that line to pull others over the wall of privilege what kind of human am I? If I can’t help others have the same chance I was born into, what kind of man would I be?

My torch is not just some beacon for others to strive for. It is also a flame that warms the cold places and lights the path I choose to follow. If I can’t share it then perhaps it’s time the torch be extinguished as the meaningless symbol it is. To give it meaning would be to give it breath and to give it breath would mean to share it with whomever seeks it. Otherwise, it’s a waste.