Shoveling Smoke

Hayden Hollingsworth
Hayden Hollingsworth

When horror abounds as it has these past few days in Paris, the emotional reactions are many. First and undeniably present is the feeling of disbelief. We want so to believe that such a terrible thing has not happened; it’s a hideous mistake in reporting. In a few heartbeats we know that it is true and as the facts pour in, garbled at first, there can be no doubt that yet again, tragedy has struck.

Hard on the heels of incredulity comes anger, even rage. How could anyone, single or in groups, perpetrate such a deed on innocent people? Then there is the senselessness of it all, but that brings no relief to the boiling in the brain. It took only an instant for those emotions to surface, but they will remain present for a long time. In the lives of those personally affected by the violence they will never go away. Understandably, it will remain part of their psyche; their lives and loves will never be the same.

Out of the realization of the terrible loss that many have suffered will arise an outpouring of sympathy. Within a few hours the sites of the carnage were being overlain with flowers. Have you ever wondered why flowers are a part of mourning? The obvious answer is the beauty that they bring to an otherwise bleak place.

One might also think of it in a more philosophical sense. The beauty of a flower is transient. Under the most ideal of conditions, it will soon fade and wither but the potential for the next generation has already begun its journey toward beauty, albeit in another time, in another place.

Human life can be like that. The spirits of those cut down so mercilessly will live on. One may understand it only as the memories they left behind, but if quantum physics is true, then energy is never lost, only changed. The energy that was unique to that person moves to a form we cannot comprehend but will, at the time of our death, become known. Some find solace in believing this is true, although it seems hollow comfort for the empty chair at the dinner table, for the birthdays uncelebrated.

We all think about the motive behind the act. There are no words that can bring understanding to that. The thoughts in the heads of the assassins are beyond comprehension of the rational mind and quickly we can think about revenge. The villains, at least those seven are dead, and good riddance might well be said; but what about those behind the acts? We don’t even know who they are, where they are, so how can we avenge these deaths?

In the shadows of our sadness lives a numberless group who knew these killers in a different world. Years ago they were wrinkled, red-faced, and wailing, just launched into a world that they would one day never understand.

We wonder how that transformation took place. What could have been done differently in their childhood that would have placed in them love instead of hate. To say that they were raised in terrible families might be true in some cases, but we all know of situations where a monster was loosed on the world when there is no reason that can explain it. For some of the deranged killers perhaps their demons were solitary; achieving their malignancy from who knows where.

Can such terror happen here? Fear spreads abroad, although we feel the unlikelihood of it individually touching us. It certainly seems a wave, albeit small, is rolling across the planet. Its impact is far greater than its size.

Hardest among our emotions is the nebulous nature of these forces. Terror is so far removed from a definable front as wars have traditionally been fought. It is like shoveling smoke: frustratingly futile. The answer is only in extinguishing the fire and there surely is no consensus in how to do that.

Hayden Hollingsworth

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