Oh Icharus! Is that the sun you fly towards?
Our wings are strong. I made them.
They have carried us this far.
Lo, your wax is melting,
But the sun does not push you away;
It consumes you.
Over the course of this last year and a half, I have been thinking about the phrase "to work tirelessly." On face value, you keep working when you get tired. But in reality, it means there is no stopping point. There is no giving up. In the absence of a door, in the face of an unscaleable wall, you get out the sledgehammer and carry on.
Violence like we've seen this week produces the kind of feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to fall over the back of the chair to vomit to have done with it. But the response I have seen reaffirms in me that if a few people can cause this much pain, every person that decides to value life, to hold out mercy, to expect and pray for the best, can overcome that hate.
Oh sun! You burn with terrible flame.
And I will outshine you.