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It’s quite possible you think this is an article about being overweight and feeling mad about that. It’s not.

It’s also not a light and fluffy, uplifting sort of article that my blog has come to be known for. I’m pissed. Good and pissed. And remaining silent is not an option anymore. I must take action and, for me, that starts with writing.

I witnessed something today that ripped my heart wide open. I witnessed one human physically abusing another human.

I felt impotent to do anything about it and no amount of me being who I am was going to shift the situation either. I am mad about that. I am mad that my innate ability to Love and Heal was of no use here. I am mad that this feeling is so prevalent – that I am blessed with the ability to Heal, but so many are not willing to Rise. I am mad that people are still perpetuating the cycle everywhere. I am mad that it seems humankind is determined to self-destruct and blow up the planet in the process. I am mad that the “Light and Love” movement is seemingly having no impact, that the violence seems to be escalating. I am mad that people think it’s okay to put their hands on another, disrespect others, violate boundaries, take the innocence of another. I am mad that there seems to be a prevailing energy that says, “It’s okay. Beat the crap outta each other. Do it. Everyone else is.”

I am mad that, if I allow myself to open to embrace the world, which is one of my Gifts, it results in my heart breaking with all the pain that is rippling across the globe. I am mad that  people are hurting each other. Purposely. All. The. Time.

I am mad.

The other day, I wrote about the weird freeway entrance that is built in a really odd place. I was at that intersection this morning. I was third in line to turn left and enter the freeway. We had to wait, though, because there were pedestrians in the crosswalk. I felt calm. The two other people in front of me were emanating peace and calm, as well. All was good.

At this crazy intersection, the pedestrians must cross a turn lane, three northbound lanes, three southbound lanes – two of which are entering the freeway, and one more turn lane. It’s quite a trek and rarely have I witnessed a pedestrian make it across in the allotted time. Many times I have witnessed near collisions, especially in the turn lanes where the right-turners are sailing up the shoulder, completely unable to see anything beyond the line of cars they are passing.

This morning, the two pedestrians were children. They were behaving very respectfully and following safe pedestrian rules. The older one looked to be about 12-13. He was wearing a white, oversized t-shirt, sagging shorts, and floppy, oversized high-tops. His hair was long, about mid-back length, and wiry, shooting in different directions even though it was held back in a loose ponytail. He was carrying nothing in his hands and had no backpack.

The younger one looked to be about 7-8. He was little, seemingly frail, and bent over under the weight of the overloaded backpack strapped to his shoulders. His hair was cut closely to his scalp, a collection of tight curls. He had on a navy blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, with laced up tennis shoes upon his feet. His legs were much shorter than the older boy’s and he had a heavy burden to carry that he kept bouncing to hitch it up further on his back, so he was having a difficult time keeping up.

About halfway through the crosswalk, the older boy looked over at us in the turn lane. I surmise he was verifying if it was safe for them to continue across the street where we were waiting to turn. Seeing us waiting, he promptly cuffed the little boy on the back of the head, hard enough that it caused the little one to lurch forward, lose his balance, and nearly fall. My heart jumped to my throat, knowing I could do nothing to help this child and had to sit, being in witness to the horror.

Holding his head and ear, the little one stumbled a few steps, attempting to stay upright. Then the older boy pushed him. Every third or fourth step, the older boy shoved him ahead and slapped him on the head. Every third or fourth step, the little boy surged forward precariously, holding onto his backpack desperately. Every third or fourth step, my heart broke and I wanted to scream. The drivers in front of me were shaking their heads. We were impotent witnesses to the breaking of a human being.

I could do nothing, but witness this abuse. And I’m mad about that.

Even now, as I sit here typing this, I have tears running down my face. I can feel the anger that lodged itself in my wrists. I can feel the little boy’s pain and I am pissed.

When they got to the other side, the older boy continued to thump on the little one. I rolled down the window as I turned and I was close enough to hear the little one’s sobs. I did the only thing I could do, there on that busy entrance ramp, I yelled out the window, “STOP! HITTING! HIM!”

The older boy, startled by my command turned around and… flipped me off.

Someone has taught him all of this acceptable. Or, rather, they have not taught them that it isn’t. Someone has either not been around to witness his ongoing treatment of others or they have ignored it. Someone is allowing this behavior to continue and it will only get worse.

There are no words deep enough for me to share with you the extent of my anger this morning. I cannot understand how the dehumanization of the human race is okay! I cannot fathom why children are being abused, that wives and husbands are abusing one another, why people are walking into schools and movie theaters and navy bases to open fire and take the lives of others. I cannot understand why it is okay for governments to knowingly poison their people or men to rape women. I don’t know WHY we cannot put a stop to these things. WHY are humans choosing to hurt each other? WHY can’t anything be done? Why, goddammit! WHY??! 

I don’t have any answers for any of those questions. And I know that my commitment to spread Love everywhere I can does nothing for that little boy who is probably hiccuping his way through school with a whopping headache. Will anyone notice he has been crying? Will they ask why? Will he be brave enough to tell? Will they listen? I cannot help him. I cannot help the children who I love, but can no longer see because I am not their mother. I cannot even help my daughter, once she’s out in the world, because this is her life and I have to trust that her journey is her journey. I can love her with all of me, and God knows, I do. I can love her and trust that she will be safe.

But… what if she isn’t? What if she ends up with a bully who pushes her around and thumps on her head? What if she ends up with a boy who pushes her through the wall or a friend who spitefully uses her? What if she is in one of those places where someone enters with the intent to kill because he or she is in so much pain they can see no other way? What if she falls in love with a boy, like I did, who was raised by a mother who beat him senseless, abandoned him, and broke him? What if he does the same to her?

God! I am MAD! I can’t do anything about any of this. And I want to. And I can’t.

And, right now, even Loving and Trusting feels like way too much.

Something has to shift in this world and it needs to happen quickly. I don’t know what it is or how. Do you?

photo credit: gioiadeantoniis via photopin cc


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