Trayvon Martin has been on my mind this week. And Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr.
Robert Bales, Joe Horn and Jared Lee Loughner
Innocent bystanders and murders with hearts filled with Hatred.
The whole post is over at Roundtree7.com America's Heart of Darkness.
All this killing is getting to me. Not only the murder in the news, but I'm troubled because Velvet and Cupcake know five or six kids who committed suicide - all of them not even twenty years old. Dead.
Now Velvet has heard that when his former roommate from Hookah House was home for Christmas vacation, his best friend from high school died in his arms. The boys had been trying to help an old guy who was getting mugged, when the mugger shot one of them. Velvet's roommate held his best friend in his arms and watched him die from a random gun shot.
We all know the world is fucked up and that life is fragile, but it seems like things are tougher on that front lately. I'm glad that Velvet will be spending the summer working at the Hippie Dippie Quaker Camp up in Vermont. It's been a long time since he's been up in that valley, working in the organic garden and playing rowdy games in the meadow. Now he's one of the big guys, working as a counselor and figuring out how to become an outdoor educator.
He's got a little job here in the city now, too, assisting a lively young man - a former punk rocker from London - who has a nice little business going from school to school as a traveling soccer coach. I ran into the coach on Broadway yesterday and had the distinct pleasure of hearing that my son is a great human being. Notably, this fellow has no reason at all to tell me this stuff other than he's so happy to have a great assistant who is having a blast with the kids and cheerfully working hard for no money. That's the ticket for anyone who hopes to be a good teacher. I'm very proud of Velvet.
I'm also profoundly sad for all those mothers out there who have lost their children to senseless hate - murders committed in suburban streets or in war zones around the world. It just sucks.
I had another simple pleasure yesterday, too. I met Vancouver Voyeur of Change Happens and her partner M for a lovely little picnic in Strawberry Fields - that nice section of the park Yoko Ono made special for John Lennon. It's always cool when somebody from the computer comes into Real Life for a moment, and it's a little discombobulating to meet a person for the first time and already know a few intimate details. Strawberry Fields is a good place to connect a real person to her writings.
It's also a good place to think about stuff like how a person's body may not be nearby, but you can connect with his/her spirit (or consciousness or mind or whatever you want to call it) no matter what. I was thinking more about Velvet going to Vermont or my mom down in Texas and Woody out in New Mexico more than Trayvon, but the idea applies nevertheless. We can always connect with the spirit even though sometimes it's only through memory like I do sometimes now with my Granny the Ho, who has been dead some years now. Maybe it's imagination or maybe it's really Spirit. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, if you ask me.
Imagining what Trayvon's parents must be feeling, thinking about his mother speaking at the Million Hoodie March - I can't manage to make my mind linger on those feelings. It's too intense and awful. But it makes me grateful for my own son, who also wears hoodies in all kinds of weather, who is watching silly Japanese cartoons on the internet in his bedroom.
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