We only have one key
So, another campus killing and another 33 deaths – and no doubt even more people killed in this same period in Darfur and Iraq and the other, man-shaped Hell holes all over the world.
This, of course, is not about gun control; this is not about laws. This is the human heart, speaking loudly. These are the cancers we grow.
We can talk God, or politics; we can do the number games, the naming games. We’re good at excuses.
We’re not very good at sharing though. We’re still at sub-Kindergarten level.
We don’t feel the pain of strangers – and however much we pay through taxes or fork out to charities, frankly, we don’t give a damn.
There would be no campus killings, no mass murder in Darfur or Iraq, if we would see all other humans as ourselves, as our family, as our lovers – our neighbours, even.
We don’t – and the killings won’t stop, ever. Until we do – and we won’t.
(I don’t know why, but when I read about the Virginia murders I thought of Leonard Cohen and his Lorca lives poem. So, again, take us away, please, Leonard:
Lorca lives in New York City
He never went back to Spain
He went to Cuba for a while
But he’s back in town again
He’s tired of the gypsies
And he’s tired of the sea
He hates to play his old guitar
It only has one key
He heard that he was shot and killed
He never was, you know
He lives in New York City
He doesn’t like it though)
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