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Wendy E. Braun – This Existence

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An Open Letter to the World

Or rather, to The Pinpricks of Light that I see out there in the universe,

There is so much in the world that must change.How is it that we have lived on this planet for so many centuries and yet we do not see that greed is at the root of all of our issues? Why is the path of moderation so hard for us to follow? When did we first believe that the rights of others had a price?

No matter who are, where we come from, or what we believe in each of us is a flame. The heat we give off does not matter. The height and the width are of little consequence. In the end, we are all the same light burning. We think that because we live in the abode of the body that we are different. We believe that because our stories and experiences vary, that we have a single identity and existence. We think that when we take a match to a candle — in hopes of finding peace or a god who will listen — that our beliefs lock into a specific religion or philosophy.

But they are one; they meet right there in that flame. It does not matter if you pray within a temple, or a mosque, a church, or an ashram, or inside of your “own” self. It does not matter if you believe in a god or not when you realize that we are all the same flame, the same heat moving, shaping, calling out into the darkness of the universe. Yes, we call out to the flames that appear to be nothing more than pinpricks of light in the darkness. And yet we call out, each in our own way. And this simple act of devotion, the lighting of a candle that calls out to something or nothing, is the very thing that transcends our divides.

I imagine all of us believing or disbelieving in “something more” when the truth is that we already are “that something more.” We are the pinpricks in the darkness of the universe. We are the evidence of a complicated creation. We can be that something more instead of being evidence of such a cruel and complicated human existence. We can pause, we can still the flame, so that it does not flicker wildly in the winds of entropy that divide us. We can remember that at our core we the same.

Some of us are hungry for food, shelter, and love. Most of us crave healing. So please, let us stop and think of what we might do that will allow us to be kinder, more compassionate beings. Let us consider how we might realize that the father of chaos is Greed and the mother is Ego. I do not believe that our flame ignites from this place. I believe that we are the children of Love and Consciousness. Maybe we have just forgotten. Maybe we do not see our worth, and so we have forgotten to see the worth of others. Maybe we just need to remember what we are.

Sometimes people say that it is one thing to think with your heart and another to think with the mind. This too is a lie. When the heart and mind are united we remember that one is the wick and the other is the match.

  • What thoughts can we release that keeps from us showing compassion?
  • What beliefs restrict us from taking actions that support the civil liberties and freedoms of all?
  • What choices can we make and actions can we take that will support each new flame that arrives with each new dawn? After all, all children are our children no matter where they are or who brought them in.

I do not understand all that is happening in the world. I try to understand why patterns of war have continued to play out of the centuries instead of patterns of peace and abundance. But I can’t and in the end, see little use for it. There can be no good greater than that which respects the rights, freedoms, and civil liberties of all.

Someday, we will remember that we are all children of Love and Peace, that we are one flame burning; because of this we will live and breathe a life that promotes healing, joy, and knowledge.

This is my greatest desire and dream for this world. I don’t know if anyone will bother with my words, but sometimes you just have to call out to the rest of the universe. I see the pinpricks of light and I am sure that they see me too.

Much love,

Wendy

 

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Goodnight to the Army of Mice

By: Wendy E. Braun

The Starlings moved into the kitchen wall over a month ago, and I couldn’t help feeling like they belonged there, my apartment a testament to what would have been, been careful not to wake them when brewing breakfast. I had felt that way about the mice until I opened the cabinet last Sunday and found an army of mice or evidence of the stench of them. The Starlings can stay, but as in all good tales…

I laid out bricks of poison the way the government hands out welfare checks and minimal benefits. We all die with full bellies in the end and are angry for the expense of cleaning up the waste.

In my twenties I cried when my roommate trapped a mouse, its small grey paws glued to a tray like tar on a desert road. Black eyes wide, rounded ears white lined with pink veins, sound pulsing through the fragile frame. She caught me trying to apply grease to its paws and promptly placed it into a plastic bag to ensure the last breath. You see, she had gone after it with an umbrella, which I could never understand, or why it was the problem when the roaches had been the ones to spoil the fruit in the basket, and it was the Bronx, and we were still young.

Yesterday my neighbor scored a raccoon with marshmallow bait, and now its law to end it all owned land equaling a general lack of relocation. Somewhere inside my walls, the mice are dying, and raccoons with bellies full of sweets rot, and thank god for the Starlings wings, and pray that the landlord doesn’t care as he cares little for the mice. But save me from the dreams where the stinkbugs cover my eyes and my mouth, because they are the only ones that I know how to get out, and don’t we just want to get out, all of us out.

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