The worst image was of this man, still alive, being taken to his death. He just stared into the camera with his huge eyes and skeleton body, directly, into the souls of anyone who was watching. He wasn't screaming or crying, just staring. Maybe he was dead.
And honestly, I wanted to forget. I thought to myself, if human beings did hold on to all of the terrible things they witnessed, and remembered every news story, our hearts would explode within ourselves. The mind has a way of helping us cope, causing blackouts. Even I, with what tiny episodes of what I felt to be traumatic at the time, have experienced vivid memories turning black so that moments cherished simply dissolved somewhere in-between my neural pathways.
I was having a conversation about birds with my sister-in-law once. We noted how birds will land on cows or horses, yet they wouldn't come close to us. We joked about birds talking to each other, when we seriously considered the fact that if a generation of birds was harmed by humans, why wouldn't they signal warnings against us? If birds can learn, we can learn, right? But each generation that is born is like a new slate unless continually warned by the previous generation.
Everything is Meaningless
What do people gain from all their labors
at which they toil under the sun?
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
No one remembers the former generations,
and even those yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them.
Possibly written by Solomon, son of David
3rd century BCE
Ecclesiastes 1:3-11
at which they toil under the sun?
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
No one remembers the former generations,
and even those yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them.
Possibly written by Solomon, son of David
3rd century BCE
Ecclesiastes 1:3-11
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