2-11 Reminds Me...
It is March in America, and I wanted to write of my love for spring; how my heart swells, and warms in response to the budding of the trees, the songs of the morning birds, the laughter of children running sleeveless in the park.
"Rebirth in America," is what I would have named this piece because the season is indeed a time of renewal, shedding the old, and donning the new. In so many ways, it is a child's season... akin to a child's sense of the world. Yet, what great man or woman hasn't exchanged their grand reality for a moment of "what if," so necessary in envisioning change?
In truth, what great writer hasn't, at some point donned the clothing, the thoughts, the appearances of others to share truth in its simplest form? Make believe gives us the courage, so often, to change the world.
The dawning of spring is what I would have written about… except that there was 2-11. 2-11, which reminds me that even as we pray for it, march for it, die for it – freedom isn't at all free, and seldom is it all we expect. Yet, there is no value one can place on it – and human beings, no matter who or where, only become full human beings, when the bell of freedom rings within.
While 2-11 has come and gone, it leaves vivid reminders in every corner of our world; that not just "us"...but, the world is in the midst of a season of change; a dawn of a new reality. Spring is nothing, if not a time of hope, and this particular spring calls for the world to rethink… what price, freedom?
Should we now replace the memory of 9-11, with this new time in history; an antidote to the darker memories of that long ago September morning? I think not. Memory is wisdom. Yet, what we know is that the world did turn on its axis that day in the beautiful, exotic Egypt; deftly killing two birds with one stone – toppling a regime, "not for the people;" and redefining the phrase, 'victory by defeat.'
And, the world goes on, and freedom begets the thirst for freedom, and there is Tunisia, Yemen, Libya, Saudi Arabia, Jordan... an ever-growing thirst that only freedom can assuage. Miracles, alas, in the most unlikely of places, in the most unlikely of times. And for this simplistic writer who views life from her own small lens, the brave revolution of 2011, reminds me that life does keep proving us wrong. It takes just a few moments to transform our world from one season to the next.
Remember 2-11, when a history of dreams became reality. An early spring, reminding us there is always tomorrow; refueling our innate understanding that morning comes after night. I am an eternal believer, transfixed by the dawns of spring, as if each one is the first: Each symphony of songs that waken me; each cavalcade of sweet and intoxicating aromas; each audience of flora slow dancing with the wind. All reminding us to never say never.
2-11 reminds me that it is a time for new beginnings; for reflecting on our pasts…but, not too much, lest we fail to move on; of shedding the old --the fears, resentments, angers, prejudices—and, donning the new. It is spring, and I cannot help but believe again…that anything is possible, and everyone is probable. A child's dream? Yes…but, a reason for this writer to keep on writing, and believing that anything, anything is possible.
Remember 2-11...and Spring.
