Pipe dreams

My breath catches on the smoke-filled air of Delhi today, a city I haven't returned to in nearly twenty years. In 2014, I remember what one person's victory felt like: the smell of burning tires. The cold metal bars on the locked gates of our apartment complex. A tall, dark barrier that kept me safe. The bars were easy to grasp, a support I could lean on as I looked out beyond. But they didn't block out the night air, or the sound of broken glass, or the stories of friends who slept with home-made bombs by their pillows.

We all agree this needs to end. But no one will stop until they're proved right. Here, two thoughts from more lucid minds:

1. "When there is a battle between right and right, a value higher than right must prevail. And that value is life itself." (Israeli novelist Amos Oz).

2. "Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future." (David Mitchell, in Cloud Atlas).

Otto Frank and countless other survivors forgave their captors after the Holocaust. They lived horrors and moved beyond them. Here, we kill and maim in the name of blood spilled so long ago it's the dust beneath our feet. In the fight of right and right there is no end to vengeance. But there is another way, if only we're willing to listen to other possibilities.

So yes, I dream of forgiveness and kindness and stuff my pipe with words of peace. I speak for kindness. I think of impossible things each day: that blood remain encased in skin. that no houses burn.  With each breath I stand for equality. I pray that these  wisps of air traverse the impossible distance between here and there.