We were firmly set in our positions, content to lob insults, lies, and memes across the American divide.

Until the rain came. Until the earth beneath every assumption failed, releasing us into a torrent of destiny. Until the power failed. Until water consumed all, leaving not a drop to drink. Until husbands and wives, mothers and children were separated by a force too strong for any human to resist. Until homes, memories, and every sense of place washed away.

With false eyelids gone, kinship began. Strangers’ hands formed a web of mutuality more powerful than the grip of destruction, more lasting than political camps. Untold acts of kindness bloomed in soggy soil. School staff scoured the hills and hollers for every child. Pilots launched anxious missions to pluck desperate, hungry people from the edge of life. Social workers left their own dark homes to find people on the margins who had less, who needed more. Truck drivers launched stoic hauls up Old Fort Mountain. An immigrant crew cleared the impossible to open an enclave to hope. And not one person considered the look, love, language, preferences, or beliefs of the other.

Until distant whispers began. Until FEMA was cursed for standing by as people died. Until the other side sneered at Wal-Mart for seizing the moment for self-promotion. Until we looked only to the channels we like to reinforce what we want to hear. Until outright lies of partisan response and non-response saturated our remaining bandwidth.

All the while, the living and dead remain hidden under eons of dirt and debris in hidden pockets amid glorious ancient blue hills.

It’s on us – all of it.

Every time a tower falls or fires rage, we remember that we belong to one another. When storms roil and bombs fall, we pause to face our basic sameness.

Until. Until. Until.

There’s an election in one month. We look daily for evidence of the things we want to be true. We ignore any signs that deride the artificial stories we have crafted to meet our needs. We seek validation that makes us feel satisfied while categorically discounting entire groups, widening the canyon that halts our requirement to exclusively and unconditionally love.

Meanwhile, children cry, and parents wail. Entire lifetimes and whole histories slip away.

The next step is ours. The responsibility, too. May we transform from radicalized to humanized. May our fears, egos, and failures slip from the ground beneath us and wash away with the rivers so that we may be cleansed. 

© Mitzi Viola, 10/6/24