I’ve been increasingly heartbroken about the sadness and tragedy throughout the world over recent years, months, weeks, days, hours. I’m not good at being vocal about it. So I did the only thing I know and wrote a story…
It’s Too Easy To Believe
His hands encase my feet and the gentle aroma of coconut oil mingles with candle wax and our recent lovemaking.
“I pray daily for peace.” I say, needing to communicate this to him, needing to feel that it means something. “I do believe the world will one day find unity and peace between all.”
He smiles and presses both his thumbs into the sole of my foot just under the arch and kneads at a knot there. It is heaven. His touch is so soothing.
“But it’s easy for you to believe.”
I push my weight up on to my elbows and he keeps rubbing, focussing on my toes now. Shivers and tingles are cascading up my heels and calves but I’m confused by his statement.
“What do you mean, ‘it’s easy’ for me to believe?” The TV is humming on low in the background, we’ve woken yet again to another horror and I watch the images over and over again, my heart broken and fragmented with every new report or repeated account. He hates me watching. He calls it ‘news porn’. I’m lighting candles almost daily now when another report of tragedy comes in.
He’s silent and I prompt him to answer by flexing my toe.
“What do you mean?” I’m irritated now by his statement. It’s not easy to watch and grieve anew with every story. It’s not easy to feel so helpless and frustrated. It’s not easy to cope with the relief and guilt that comes from being thankful when the victims aren’t you or your family.
“James, what do you mean?”
He slowly looks up at me, he’s sad.
“Well, it’s easy for you to believe that one day the world will find peace when you’ve never had bombs falling on your home. It’s easy to believe when you live in a town that barely knows crime. It’s easy for you to believe when you live in a country with a government you might not like but you’re not afraid of. It’s easy to believe when you’ve never watched your own children slaughtered or your women raped or your friends attacked. It’s easy to believe that all it will take will be for everyone to suddenly look at the beauty of this planet and have an epiphany that life is a miracle and drop their weapons and all hold hands. It’s easy for you when you can throw open the doors to your beautiful garden, holding your coffee and wondering at the miracle of life as it thrives around you. It’s easy. Your garden is not rubble. Your home has not been invaded nor your body attacked and broken.”
He’s rubbing my calves now and I’m sobbing.
“It is easy for you to believe that wounds heal when you have someone who loves you and cares for your injuries. It’s easy to believe that love will rule when you have someone to hold you close at night and sooth your brow and keep you safe. It’s easy to believe when you are seeing the tragedy through a lens.”
I pull my legs away from his grip and tuck them up underneath me and reach for the remote to switch off the TV.
I edge off the bed and go to start blowing out the candles that line the shelves.
He puts out his hand and stops me.
He relights the candles I have extinguished then takes my hands in his.
Pulling me close.
Making it easy.
I write this for everyone who despite all the tragedy, still believe in peace – and for those who don’t. My love to you all x x x
And for all the victims of violence. Last night in Nice, last week in Bagdad, last month in Orlando, last year in Paris, Turkey, Syria… the list goes on and on.
I still believe