Ragamuffin ramblings

MPB (7 Years on) I had no words back then, only sounds. Deep groans to my dad, twisted down a phone line Knotted-up with unfathomable rage. I had no strength back then, just flesh dumped on a living room floor. Numb. Grief-stricken...dumb! I had no peace back then. Regrets. Words said! Unsaid! A foreign field has held in its primal soil, my warrior*. My conflicted heart has kept its vigil, anxiously straining to recognise that voice tell that ludicrous story, that tall tail, that opinion, that rant. I have such peace today. Memories. Legacies left. Beloved. I have such strength today. My champion, my thorn, my brother. I no longer need the words. I look within a deep repository of being loved by him .  *My brother is buried near hills called 'The sleeping warrior' in the Rift Valley.

The events of this week have left a deep, uncomfortable ache in many of us.  How long oh Lord? How long? Earlier this week I'd read a quote from Dorothy Day the founder of The Catholic Worker who had reflected on the miracle of the loaves and fishes.  Without the willingness of the one who had the loaves and fishes to share what little he had then the miracle could not have taken place.   I feel as a white privileged male I have very little to offer or contribute that will bring about the change that's needed to end the chronic injustice that is the daily reality of so many.  However, if I can offer it to God and plead with him to somehow transform this and all our individual responses then maybe, just maybe we could see a miracle take place.  Dorothy Day went on to write, "We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that loves comes with community." Today in the liturgical calendar is Trinity Sunday.  ...