True Stories of Our Real World, Real Stories of Our True World

Every Day Acts of Peace

Over 100 Million readers world-wide
in over 233 Nations and Territories
Google translation in over 100 languages

Friday, May 6, 2011

Hiroshima 1989: Evaporating Emotions From Our Collective Pool of Feelings

Intimacy begins 
with acknowledging curiosity 
about someone other than your self.
She walks to me a stranger 
with intent to connect,
she never takes her eyes off mine 
for one second.
There is so much depth in her eyes, 
I can see thousands in life and death,
all the souls in her heart, 
all whom she met in her life –
the totality of her experience 
surrounds us in this moment.

Hiroshima blinks her eyes 
and tightens her grasp of my hand,
my throat tightens its grip on my breath 
and the blood flow to my heart.
Moved, I kiss her hand
so she knows I know 
the hopes of a woman –
that love and connection 
are never too late
when expressed honestly
with trust from the heart.

People walk by embarrassed 
by the open display 
of raw human emotion.
I understand their faces, 
but not their words.
I am embarrassed 
to let go of her saged hands, 
in her time of need –
to seemly reject her 
outreach for connection.
She created the emotional strength 
to move from her comfort zone,
to stretch out her elderly boundaries 
and break her aged limitations - so
I decide to meet her challenge 
to create emotional strength,
to match her feelings, 
stretch, to freely return 
what she freely gifts me.

We both know it is time 
to be more than we are separately,
so I gently grasp her hands 
tighter to unite our vision to connect.
Now I am the age 
she was during the destruction,
later I will be the age 
she currently is consecrating -
renewed by our combining 
strength and purpose, 
I pledge to carry the force 
of her stream of life forward, 
to forever flow.

A tear falls 
as graceful 
as an individual 
snowflake glides
to meet and blend 
with all the other 
on life's mountaintop.

I relax my hold of her hand, 
as an expression 
of my individual snowflake,
since not a single tear 
falls from my eyes, 
to blend with her 
already fallen snow.

Hiroshima rains down tears, 
for me to share, 
as I stand 
under her umbrella of hope.
She came to me 
with grasped hands, 
then unclasped hands, 
only to grasp mine.
She spoke to me in Japanese, 
a language I do not understand – 
but I remember her being, 
here, now, then and thereafter,
I know she shared 
her soulful eternity in Emotion, 
a language I do understand.

This saged lady 
crying in front of me 
grows older
with each moment passing 
bringing yet another tear.
She will die soon 
and take with her the events –
her events she personally witnessed, 
not recorded in any history books -
too personal 
to be etched on paper history,
her testament of sleepless nights 
and legacies vivid with emotion 
pass with her.

We lose something 
every time 
someone dies on this planet,
we lose 
a little bit of emotion 
from the collective pool of feelings.

I wander around the dead 

and naked land of Hiroshima.
The artists have done their best 
to do a make over of this land,
into a sacred space 
for the pursuit and worship of peace.
It is quiet, 
petrified from the last bit of noise and fury
when angels lost some feathers 
from the sky downward descending.
Some of us fly, 
some of us club down our own wings,
but human nature thrives 
in air as well as on earth.

I photograph the doves 
as they fly towards me
their wings span time, 
distance, drama and trauma.
Doves fly above my 
outstretched hands 
in circles and spirals –
they grace the air 
with details of their elegance -
elegant historical flights.
Mobile sculptures 
that embody grace, 
birds fly in the formation
of one large family, 
united by inheritance, 
as emissaries of peace.

Wings brush the tangles 
from my world-worn hair, 
leaving feathers as bookmarks,
time-holders to save their place, 
as they read my thoughts.
I pull a feather from my hair 
and read in it the collective memory of birds.
I watch them fly on wings of history 
to show us they survive destruction,
only to soar to greater heights – 
birds come back 
when time has healed 
the heart of the Earth.
Some of the birds are malformed, 
a new breed emerging
surviving to thrive among 
the bare dirt ground 
and the eloquent shrines.
The birds survive 
hundreds of years 
stronger, not broken –
their DNA realigned, 
re-purposed and re-created –
the evolved mutations 
of their lives’ time span.

Feathers fall like snowflakes,
as the birds comfort us 
in the shower of their memories. 
I honour the birds’ flight 
to create purity and silence.
I watch and learn from the birds,
so I too can create quiet –
I distance myself 
by flying away 
from the source of the noise.
Everything diminishes 
in the zone of flight;
tears, snowflakes, feathers
all blend into white noise of pure light.
My external world unfolds into peace, 
as my internal world holds harmony.

I remember the elder lady of Hiroshima, 
meeting her was not chance.
She transformed her collateral state of damage 
into being a states woman of peace.
From her point of view 
I had no responsibility in the exchange -
Hiroshima is still, simply, feeling, 
the effects of atomic creation and destruction.
Hiroshima is crying for us all; 
all who are alive, all who died,
all yet to be born, 
and all of us still 
living separate from the whole.

As her final moments approached 
she chose to create compassion,
to forgive and give the wisdom 
to regain a state of harmony.
By attuning to the forces within herself 
that govern her world,
she created an opportunity 
to bring about her own healing, 
and ours.
Atom destruction, evaporating emotions 
from our collective pool of feelings.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after he left Tibet,

Nawang Khechog wrote and said;
"May All Be Kind To Each Other."
"Peace Through Kindness."

"Roaring With Colour" by Karin Lisa Atkinson