Day after day the reality of the loss and suffering has grown. I've been involved with efforts to feed the people displaced from New Orleans, help them get into housing and out of shelters, rebuild shattered lives, all the while doing my day-to-day work. Twelve hour days, plus, have been the norm and I have felt numb. Protection from the grief and pain. Today I met a family who had been at the Superdome, Astrodome, and now are dependent upon my organization's efforts to keep them going. They had waded through neck-high water with babies on their necks to find safety. Now they are here in my community with no resources. I signed affadavits of their identity so they can get mail and possibly work.
I went to a local shelter to help feed 150 people who still have no where to go. Their amazing spirit in the face of total loss brought the reality of what has happened to the forefront of my heart. I couldn't deny it any longer. To see these people who have nothing left of their former lives dancing and finding the spirit of life there in this shelter touched that part of me that I have kept at a distance and I couldn't deny it any longer.
I held a young child, he was maybe 2 years old. He was stiff at first but slowly I felt his body give way and he leaned into me, moving to the music being played. I help him and swayed, sending all the love I had into his tiny self. I could feel his sadness. I could feel his need to just be loved and feel safe in this world. It broke my heart. I fed him ice cream and think it might have been the first time he had ever had this experience. I saw his mother dancing all alone in the corner of the gymnasium and she had such a sad gracefulness about her - and it was beautiful.
There is both a brokeness and a beauty present in our world. And then there was music and the people danced.
And there was hope.
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