We have left the 20 years war behind us.
“See how lucky you are” I hear some voice say.
I cried for the mothers, so lonely and in pain.
Their luck ran out- and fly home with a flag draped over their coffin.
My anxious scattered thoughts keep me bared from a state of comfort and delightful luck.
I chase scraps of information, seeking hope for rescued animals ready to leave.
I read obituaries of young men and women who served the war.
Writing to my local representatives about dip notes and the value of all life...
What about the service dogs?
Surely they won't be left behind?
Those emotional supports for soldiers, loved so completly.
Those protectors, bomb sniffers, spirit lifters. Waiting on their care takers, for any option to leave.
...as if I can save them from here in my small organized life, powerless among the gears of conquest in a social media drowning pool about the sunsettIg occupation and how small that concern may be...with all my good luck charms and privilege.
The rescued remnants...
again abandoned
forcibly released.
Left to fend for themselves in chaotic streets
the starving desperation.
Shots of celebration between men
as luckless dogs huddle in unsafe spaces.
And it hasn't mattered much, to many...
This darkness wants to swallow me whole
I feel guilty and spoiled to rot.
I didn't want it ever, and I would have never let things be like this.
When it comes to the war...I know little beyond second hand stories, privilege, media blips, and the luck of a birth draw.
I am sick with the topic of luck.
My healing truth...When one suffers, we all suffer. Where there is injustice for one, there is injustice for all. There is no reason to give up on seeking an end to suffering and to work for healing for all beings in Afghanistan and around the world.
It's will never be as simple as those who are lucky and those who are unlucky...
I Will not accept such a ridiculous idea.