Messages keep rolling in all day long and they sound like I am doing something special.
I am not doing anything. It is just happening. It is involuntary. I am a mere instrument of the Divine.
I couldn’t help what has happened and I can’t help what is happening.
It is as though I have been volunteered while I wasn’t looking.
We have an early start tomorrow as we register at 7 am for the event, a 25 kilometre walk. Wow! Have never walked more than 10 kilometres at one go before. Also, haven’t written a blog or a newspaper article before, never organised a vigil before, never expressed my views on national TV before, never raised so much money for charity before. Have never worked so much with my heart before.
Here’s another poem:
It is hard for us to enter
the kind of despair they must have known
and because it is hard we must get in by breaking
the lock if necessary for we have not the key,
though for them there was no lock and the surrounding walls were supple,
receiving as waves, and they drowned
though not lovingly; it is we only
who must enter this way.
Temptations will beset us, once we are in.
We may want to catalogue what they have stolen.
We may feel suspicion; we may even criticize the décor
Of their suicidal despair, may perhaps feel
It was incongruously comfortable.
Knowing the temptations then
Let us go in
Deep to their despair and their skin and know
They died because words they had spoken
Returned always homeless to them.
– Janet Frame.