Thursday, January 08, 2009

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A Day That Lives In Infamy This much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul. ~ Robert F. Kennedy copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org It is the seventh day of the month, a date that now lives in infamy. On this occasion, she passed. She was killed by an attack that was all too sudden. Her physical presence on Earth did not end in the month of December. The year was not 1941. The events at Pearl Harbor did cause my Mom's heart to stop. Indeed, she only ceased to exist in a form that I can see with my eyes or touch with my hand, less than a decade ago. Truly, it feels as if Mommy just took her leave. In every moment, she is still with me. All these years later, I mourn my loss. Oh, if only I could bring her back. She enters into my dreams almost daily. Since childhood, I knew, if she were gone, I might not be able to go on. Today, on the anniversary of her bodily discorporation, I mourn, as I trust she would, the casualties in Iraq, Afghanistan, Gaza, Israel, and anywhere that war delays, defers, or denies family time, space, and a proper setting in which to grieve. Unreported by United States Armed Forces, the Bush Administration, or the American free press, it was estimated that since the US-led invasion began, as of September 2007, over a million Iraqis were killed. Opinion Research Business, a prominent British survey agency, approximated 1.2 million Iraqi residents violently realized a horrific conclusion to life. At times, entire families were among the fatalities, survived by only friends, and relatives who lived. That does not negate the notion, that someone, somewhere, suffered...
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An Inauguration Invitation copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org I am asking you to believe, not just in my ability to bring about a real change in Washington, I'm asking you to believe in yours. ~ Barack Obama The invitation arrived in an electronic mail. As much as America wishes to be hopeful, I had none. I saw the communiqué and thought it would not be possible. I would never be selected to attend the inauguration. Of all the millions who are moved by this historic occasion, while I am amongst these, my anecdote is and would be far less remarkable. My personal reflection on the Obama election, would not be tragic. Nor would any thought I might muse of move a reader to say, "Yes. She should be seated at the swearing in ceremony." Whatever I might communicate is certainly of little interest to most, if not all. Surely, the saga of a grandson, or grand-daughter, of a slave, one who worked as their ancestors had, might mesmerize more, or at least a legend such as this would enthrall me. Indeed, it did. Only yesterday, I saw and heard a film essay on James "Little Man" Presley. This steady man in Mississippi began his career when he was six [6.] On camera, this glorious gent recounted his reality of fifty years of work in the cotton fields. He shared his sorrow; as a Black man, he was barred from restaurants and royalties that might be awarded to a white man. "Little Man" Presley also presented his pleasure. As he spoke of his thirteen children, wife, employer, and the Journalist who has known him since the day of the Correspondent's birth, I cried. When Mister Presley at the mention of the President Elect Obama, and said he voted for him, I knew...

A being that believes . . . "thinking is the best way to travel!" [Mike Pinder, Moody Blues]

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