Yesterday, I woke up feeling angry.
At the loss of innocent lives.
In tower blocks.
On bridges and in markets.
On the streets of our most troubled neighbourhoods.
At people getting richer – and damn the consequences.
As souls are sold and bucks are made.
And the poor get left behind.
At the relentless self-interest of so many with power and influence.
And the toxic language of hatred and division.
At my inability to see the plank in my own eye and my remarkable capacity for hypocrisy.
At my failure to understand that I am my brother’s keeper. My sister’s too.
And, yet, there is a stubbornness to hope.
As I watch firefighters step into burning buildings.
And paramedics bind up broken bodies.
And police officers venture repeatedly into the hurting places.
As I witness the extraordinary courage and compassion of them all.
And of those who insist that we have more in common.
And the kindness of ordinary people handing out blankets and bottles of water; of children offering clothes and toys; of neighbours opening front doors and strangers opening arms.
Being the very best that we can be.