Tonight’s menu and baking are dedicated to
Through A Kitchen Door
Several nights ago I awoke from a vivid dream:
The people of the land had been at war for three generations.
It was not an every day war, but its threat and ache persisted
like a low grade fever that never quite went away and sometimes
would flare and incapacitate. The effect was gradual exhaustion
and the erosion of hope, the seed and soil of desperation.
Sometimes the desperation played out in cruel acts of violence.
But violence only seeds itself and so was never helpful. More
often the desperation was internalized and became a violence on
Great was the sorrow and the sadness.
One day, in his own act of desperation, the old man w/ thin
gray hair put down his sword, picked up his hoe and walked into
the desert toward the gate of his enemy. With each step
he moved away from the protection of his own peoples and more
subject to the powers of his enemy. With each step fear built
in his heart.
I watched with amazement, and followed him.
He and I entered the village of our enemy, the enemy of
our father and his father before, through a kitchen door.
The terror I felt was absolute and it took all of my will
not to be paralyzed by it. To my surprise I was not slain,
but cautiously welcomed (for my enemy too was afraid). We made
food together that day and that evening ate together, not
as friends or brothers, but as tentative and fragile human
beings, alive, together, with more questions than answers,
wondering – how the world might be.
Thanks for coming tonight.
Related Topics: remembrances