The U.S. bombed Iran.
Well… that just happened.
I’ve finally arrived at a place in life where events involving the wider world don’t penetrate my inner world. I care. I care about people in my own country. I care about people in other countries, maybe too much it feels sometimes.
My father was an electrical engineer. That meant exciting stuff like aerospace equipment. I grew up learning about the solar system. My brother had posters of astronauts on his wall, and he wanted to be one. My experience with that side of my father’s career was 100% positive. I thought then and still believe now NASA and the associated organizations who chart new horizons and learn about space give humanity a new dimension that wasn’t available to previous generations. It is a gift. It is an opportunity for humanity. It is a uniting topic and has done great good for humanity.
My father’s work also included helping build dreary stuff like bombs. Even at a young age I associated bombs with someone, somewhere losing their life. I grew up in an area were there is a lot of military including home to the Air Force Academy and Thunderbird fighter pilots. I have healthy respect for the government and its military, but don’t glorify them. I realize the awesome responsibility a service member has and respect the course they have chosen for their life. I hope they are well cared for, and I also hope peace prevails and we never need their services.
My father once mentioned to me how proud he’d be if I became an Air Force Academy cadet. It was a symbol in my mind of just how my father’s perception of me and my perception of myself differed. I wanted to be a fine artist. I felt kindred with musicians and artists, humanitarians and charitable organizations. I did not think I would last a day in any kind of military role, not because I could not develop the skills needed, but because it didn’t fit my personality. My strengths were elsewhere.
I cared about soldiers because they are people, not because they are soldiers. I cared about the soldiers in other countries too, because they too are people. Every time my country goes to war, my heart hurts. Listening to the news of wars happening in other parts of the world makes my heart hurt. I want all wars to stop. I want to learn about other cultures of people, not hear how many casualties they had on a given day.
I want to know their history. I want to know my own history. I want to know our collective history. I feel as though this entire world is a great cathedral, and our assignment here is to learn as much about it, and ourselves as we can. It is also to love this world and the people in it as much as we can.
Then I am yanked out of that beautiful, comfortable vision by the nightly news which reports about the actions of militaries and governments. Expendable Americans are ‘in the weeds.’ Expendable people from other countries are ‘collateral damage.’ These are two phrases used by two different American politicians. (one from each party.) My brain and heart are not capable of reducing humanity in that way.
I once saw a well done painting that expressed it very well. On one side is vibrant color with playing children, people in prayer, and nature, healthy and in full bloom. On the other is desolation, shades of grey, bombed land, crumbled structures, hungry, hurting people.
In the center, on the grey side is a soldier with an automatic weapon, and on the side with color, a little girl is placing a flower in the end of his gun which brings him pause, reflection and joy. Two worlds touch for just a moment.
The image is striking and communicates so deeply.
The expression I get from it is wishing a shift in consciousness would lead to more appreciation for what we have as a people: archeology, anthropology, astronomy, biology, geology, oceanography, the natural world. It is not about the words or the books or the classes. It is about what those words represent… a world we were given that can be explored and deeply learned by everyone. As awareness grows, so too grows appreciation this is the ONLY world we were given and it is enough. In fact, it is something to be celebrated.
There are people to meet, ancient ruins to see and learn about, talented artists expressing new ideas and beauty. There are valuable children, safe, growing, happy, and learning. There are networks of humans contributing to the consciousness of humanity going forward.
To me that is paradise. I will forever be that little girl in vibrant color placing the flower in the gun of the soldier. My greatest dream is one day the entire painting will be in color, and the soldier will put down his gun and behold a life changing sunset.
The world will be a safe enough place that he feels he can do that.