My son is asleep for his midmorning nap. Today is my birthday and my mind has been thinking about all who are suffering in Norway. The terrorist looks to be a native ring wing who claims to be Christian. Scripture would argue against him being a Christian as the fruit of his actions are nothing more than death. He will most likely cling to his stated beliefs, and I think what will emerge in the coming days is how banal he truly is. I think there is a lot of wisdom Hana Arendt's understanding of the banality of evil, to which I would add that the Bible pairs off evil with foolishness. Evil is both banal and foolish. Much like he made bombs out of shit, Anders Behring Breivik has made himself into shit.
Here is the poem for toady.
The Day of My Birthday And The Day After Terror
Peace, the ink not yet dried, must be composed
in the act if living. Not the absence of war,
peace must be active in saying yes to life.
Today, I celebrate my birth 47 years ago. Today.
young people in Norway are find their way
toward tears and a return of life. The same tears
shed by Jesus. Blasphemy of the divines name,
the buffoon plan to use dung to blow up
his hatred, only to express the dung in his head.
Guns and bombs, and dead and dead and dead.
Peace must be made every day, every moment,
and act of prayer. What a fool to think that his
hapless act would prove him right. Fool and evil
are pared off in the Bible. And what of those
who live and remain? Today the sun is hot.
Today, we start to speak the word peace.
Writing peace as a poem needs to first find
its form in its making. The ink can never dry
and we have to keep blowing on the paper.
Peace bring the act of living. Today,
I love my two year old and give him
a new toy car. Peace is the act of living.