Systems, countries, communities, people. Cracks are becoming more visible every day. The fractures are growing, becoming more entrenched, less accessible to easy remedies.
And I stand in the shower and cry, as a Turkish surgeon explains why he has organised a charity to provide education for refugee Syrian children who have had no schooling for 5 years.
He described them as a lost generation, and that echos across the globe. On every continent, people are being left, discarded, ignored or degraded by events and arguments, politicians, religious leaders or corporations, far away from their daily battles to survive.
Lines are drawn, prejudices and old animosities massaged and energised, disagreement becomes dispute becomes destruction. And the established protect their status, and the populations bear the cost.
And from fear, or for security, for familiarity, for solidarity, more and more separate, more and more on either side of the cracks. And the divides get wider.
And the fractures spread down to communities, groups, individual people. Each struggling with their own pressures, the daily chicane that life throws up.
There are too many little nags and pricks and slips in dealing with everyday circumstance without the overload that so many have to deal with from outside their orbits of influence.
And I see friends, families, coping, dealing, falling, rising and rising again. And each one inspires, and each one slides a slither of hope into the cracks. And there are clear moments of joy to lift hearts, and eyes to a clear sky.
And I feel ashamed for the flatness, and the lack of impetus. I watch bright souls surpass the fractures and move forward and upward. And I smile a little and step up.
And then a new harsh crack appears, and I wonder, again, whether there will ever be enough tiny shards of hope to fill the cracks.
And I don’t know. And maybe I never will.
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