The sound of irony
It is a beautiful day. The heat of summer has not set in yet, days after the solstice. It is a little fresh first thing in the morning. I cherish it, knowing that oppressive heat will arrive.
I am torn. I have so much love around me. Incredible beauty. Life. The dolphins were close again this morning. The surf was small and fun, the local crowd friendly and relaxed. Yesterday, one of the baby kookaburras that its mum and dad have been feeding from the mince we give them braved coming close, its squeals a giveaway.
Yesterday we shared a bountiful feast with family.
And yet I have an increasingly fractured relationship with this holiday. An excuse to bring family together is great. The commercialism is abhorrent. The true meaning of December 25th hollow bones. I read somewhere that the story is about a Middle Eastern refugee family seeking sanctuary.
It breaks my heart as the sound of irony rings so loudly in a deaf world.
I believe in daily gratitude. Daily acts of kindness. Saying I love you to those I love often. Breaking bread physically and metaphorically as a sacred, regular ritual. Reviewing my behaviour, asking for forgiveness – every day. In the moment.
I am blessed beyond imagination. The warm sun on my skin. My love sitting across from me after a shared surf. From this bounty my responsibility to act for those without increases.
I think of all the oppressed people. Those who have lost loved ones. Those who are terrorised by the ever-present threat of bombs. Those who have been forced from their homes by all forms of supremacy, even as I write. Those who face fire, flood and drought. Those who battle demons of the mind and spirit.
Small actions, every day are my practice. Holding love, beauty and gratitude are the structures that create my backbone of resolve and commitment for a better, Syntropic World.
Photo Taken December 26th 2024, Article written December 26th 2024
