This is a well researched and written piece, the most interesting I've read on the Tamberlan Tsarnaev: The Radicalization of Tamberlan Tsarnaev. The ending resonates deeply in me like a bell, sounding out the question I've asked my whole life, the question the Dishwasher asks: How do we reconcile the beauty with the horror?
In my poem The Last Time I Saw You, written about my father, I end with what is, for me, the confounding truth of not only my own father, but human beings. That we are capable of goodness and love and then- something else happens, something internal, external, something mysteriously powerful, profoundly personal and yet not unique, and there is a dark place without compassion, where rage, fear, and finally evil begin to grow on the walls, cover the floor, strangle the emptiness with thick veins. This dark place is where bombs explode, where fathers hurt their little daughters, where we walk past babies on the ground or cheer on suicide attempts. Eruptions of evil from a person who also acts with care are confounding. The small erosion that can take place inside a person, silently and invisibly, without even a great abuse or neglect, but simply with a constant wearing away at deep connection with other human beings- whatever the reason, the source, the fault- is the place where the faultline lets and the dam breaks and everything unseen is seen, everything unheard is screamed.
When a person is insane, or cruel throughout their life, never loving, never showing compassion or sweetness or kindness, it is easier to accept the worst. It is terrifying to think on a person who dotes on his mother, helps stranded passengers and cries when his cat dies and then blows up innocent human beings.
in my poem, the same ending as the news piece, just different words.
the last time i saw you,
i imagined you on your deathbed,
whispering your compassionate philosophies,
telling the story of the time you saved
a woman and her daughters from car jackers,
oh god! once you saved a woman
and her daughters.
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"What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open " M.R.
she's precocious / and she knows just what it takes / to make the pros blush
The Mr. & Mrs.
what i thought love was is so much less than what it is
Our Pack: Dakota Wolf, Lola Moon, Ian Oliver and our baby, Ever Elizabeth
Someone may have stolen your dream when it was young and fresh and you were innocent. Anger is natural. Grief is appropriate. Healing is mandatory. Restoration is possible. -Jane Rubietta
you can stand under my umbrella
the light is on for you
My dear child, who can tell? One can only tell that, by remembering something which happened where we lived before; and as we remember nothing, we know nothing about it; and no book, and no man, can ever tell us certainly.
Some couples don’t ask much of one another after they’ve worked out the fundamentals of jobs and children. Some live separate intellectual and cultural lives, and survive, but the most intense, most fulfilling marriages need, I think, to struggle toward some kind of ideological convergence. Norman Rush
Pray For Kate McRae
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I Believe In Nationwide Health Care
E Pluribus Unum ( Out of Many, One )
"I pay no attention whatever to anybody's praise or blame. I simply follow my own feelings." - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
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