|Blogs > rm_MonRachat > Cellar Door|
Often in the night I walk the streets of different cities searching for answers that cannot be easily answered. In the gutters and down the alleys I pass by those labeled “needy” and “unfortunate.” They asked for my ear and tugged at my heart. I knew within the depth of my heart that the only thing separating us was a few life decisions and the chance roll of unseen dice. I walk in the night searching for answers to questions that I don’t even know.
It is a never ending conflict; the twisting and turning of the coin. The world around in every society holds the fortunate and the unfortunate and the ultimate question of responsibility and moral order. The turmoil of the human soul for the responsibility and necessity to aid others wears at me as it has the human race for millennia past but makes the conflict no less difficult. So with such ache in my heart I went out into the daylight in search of answers for the night.
With my hands I took the hammer in my hand and drove the nails down. With my hands I dug and cleared the ground, laying pipes that would flow with water. With my hands I helped build homes and lives for a better future of those that needed my help.
With my hands I gathered cans of food and cooked. With my hands I filled small paper plates with meals to get them through another day. With my hands I scrubbed and washed and began to contemplate an end.
With every deed of my hands my heart grew heavier and the answers I sought run farther into the distance. So I trudged on into the nights, giving what I could and grasping at straws for answers and solutions to the questions that cannot be found in any book. Was it enough? What could any one person ever do? Is hoping and trying even worth it?
Good will and nature of the strongest, of those who I watched venture into the world with open arms and a ready smile for all those willing and needing did at best dent the problem at hand. With every meal there were a dozen missed. With every home made for a family, hundreds went unsheltered. With every embrace and smile thousands went unloved. The odds are overwhelming and the chances don’t even exist.
As the food plopped onto the flimsy paper plate my eyes met with hers. She was no older than four and held more sorrow in her eyes than deserved. Standing there watching the food longingly I watched her take the food, nervously whisper a thank you, and take a seat quickly next to her dinning mother when the answers of the night came. It was not fair, but it was not about fairness. It was monolithic and unbearable but it would be bared and it would be beat. Hope exists in our hands and hope exists in our heart. And in the night I remember that these beliefs may not be right but are the ones worth believing in.
3/27/2006 3:23 pm
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