I wrote this on September 11. I lay in bed that morning, remembering that other fateful morning all those years ago. A friend woke me with the terrible news. I was staying at another friend’s house in Palo Alto, so far away from that place that had become home over the years I lived there. Remembering that everything in me urged me to return to my city, victim of this sacrilege. My heart was there, but I let good sense persuade me that there were too many people there as it was — and, of course, planes weren’t flying. Instead, I gathered with local folk to mourn. There, we sought comfort from one another for the uncountable enormity of lives lost and Innocence shattered. One with the whole world, we joined hands and hearts in community. There were no political divides. For years after that, when things happened, we came together. Citizens of one country raised flags of other countries when tragedies struck. That event and the ones that followed brought us closer to World Peace than we had been in decades. We did not sorrow alone. We were supported and comforted. We believed it might last.
Continue reading “Peacemaking in the Face of Hate”