• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 02
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News Story: A Reflection

The mornings and evenings are ripened blue, with flashes of white and bits of glittering skies.
I sit up in my chair, looking out the window. I try to tell time from the shadows and philosophize the air draughts and the passing clouds.
I live. I know there is a world out the door. And yet I know nothing.
I wait until the bell rings and those sheets come home. I feel them in my hands and know that I hold words from the corners of the Earth and from Space.
I know the Pacific, I know deserts.
I know the heart of a mother looking for her child, I know the diktats of governments.
I know microbes, I know the difficulties in securing two square meals.
I cover my eyes with the paper. And yet, it uncovers my eyes.
I KNOW, I say emphatically. But is “knowing” truly knowing+ seeing+ feeling? Is it understanding/ empathizing? Does the paper open my mind?
Is the written word always true?
I feel sorrowful about the misinformation and disinformation spreading these days. I try to look up at the Sun and glide into the Night. I hope the black newsprint sketches the transparent Truth and blocks the false glare coming off so many screens, knotting the threads of Humanity.
I hope I can see myself reflected in the eyes of my Neighbour as clearly as I see myself reflected in the Mirror.
I hope no one spreads lies about anybody.
I hope the paper is crisp, dry and a wealth of knowledge and not dank with the moisture and stink of secrecy, propaganda, conspiracy.
My hands feel the paper, but so does my Soul.
I await in my chair the evening Star and morning Glory: in a News Story.