I never thought I would sit in the parking lot of a busy shopping center in Atlanta and cry in my car when listening on the radio to the words of the U.S. President, a man, a parent, our President, trying to console a horrified nation.
Nothing can ever bring sense to the event of the mass shooting at Sandy Brook Elementary in Newtown, CT. Nothing.
Long ago I thought about an event like this and I did what has many times brought me some intended ability to accept, to understand, to process. I wrote a poem.
It is an ugly poem about a similar event that happened in Scotland in March of 1996. Thomas Hamilton, 46, barged into a school gym in Dunblane, and killed 2 teachers and 12 children, all of them the same age as the children at Sandy Brook.
At that time trying to process such horrific news, I wondered then, the same as I do now, how does the mind get to a place that evolves an ordinary Friday morning into a series of events that arm a young man with plans and intent to kill, kill, kill.
How does that happen inside a person's mind ? Are we all capable, are there conditions that drive this unspeakable behavior in only a few? How can the horror of such an act accompany any rational thoughts in the mind of a person, how can than be, how can that happen?
I know there are answers; people who study and treat the human mind, they have answers that make sense, or at least make sense to them. Many on the morning shows today sharing information about the possibilities. It does not make any sense to me.
All I know how to do in times like these is ask GOD to favor everyone impacted and bless them with GRACE in every breath; every time they inhale and exhale, every time their hearts beat, every time they blink, GOD shower them, flood them with your GRACE.
|The flag at half mast at the Fort Walton Aiport|
Behind the Torn Curtains
The mind is a monster, ape-like and huge.
Dark.... fury... with no eyes.
It's a rounded box filled with black jelly beans
that when consumed, explode.
It's fast, twisting, always accelerating
It's a courtroom, the mind imagines judge,
jury and verdict.
An unbalanced scale, the mind cheats
every ounce, every time.
It's a prison, doors open and close
visitors will never come.
A staged war, an act of illusion, mechanical,
precise, it ever wins.
The mind an open market of handled shapes, colors
never sold for what they're worth.
It's an easy-over-egg that robbed life
from a creature to be.
It's a rat maze, specimens get a prize
if they cross the finish lines painted red.
The bastard child of a frightening genius
the mind plays people like wind-up toys.
It's a great reproduction, the Jungle ride
at far away Disneylands.
It spins slowly a merry-go-round
giving you time and horses that never frown.
People are fooled, for they think they control
yet all minds, have a mind of their own.
It knows what it is doing from the time it's born
It's aware of death and happily mourns.
The mind, the mind inside the mind.
The one behind the curtains torn,
That mind, it can be a monster, low, ruthless, invention.
Dark, fury, with no eyes.
From Time Magazine, March 25th, 1996.....
"Nobody can know just what monsters of the psyche drove the strange moonfaced man's mind to crack at that moment, or why he chose the gentlest, most innocent of the school's 729 pupils to be the victims of his inner torments".....