Coronavirus19 Diary - A Right to Bear Arms

 Another mass shooting. They become ubiquitous. They lose their ability to shock. They become commonplace, a part of life in the U.S.

People speak of their right to bear arms yet fail to understand the reason for the 2nd amendment. Our new country had no army or police. Law enforcement and national defense were dependent on individuals  forming  "well regulated" militias to protect life, property and newly declared rights and liberties. They ignore the primitive  nature of firearms at the time the amendment was written. It took 90 seconds to load a single, inaccurate shot from a musket. The concept of a firearm being able to release scores of shots in seconds would have been unfathomable to our country's founders. 

Politicians offer thoughts and prayers yet no sensible solutions. We watch, powerless, as those we voted into positions of power refuse to use it for the common good. 

Self described Christians attack a woman's right to choose yet are silent regarding guns. It is, at best, a questionable moral stance. 

I have no answers. Contacting my representatives in Congress is pointless as I live in the progressive stronghold of Chicago, itself a victim of the patchwork of gun restrictions, surrounded by states with gun laws more lax than ours. 

I wonder if this madness will end. I wonder if liberty means the right to live free of fear. I wonder what it will take, or if it is possible, to restore a bullet riddled nation's soul.

  

Coronavirus19 Diary - A Few Words on Writing

 Sometimes the words come easily, tumbling out of my brain almost faster than I can write them down. Sometimes I am stuck mid sentence, I scroll through my mental dictionary searching for the words to convey my point. Sometimes the point itself seems elusive. I watch as a concept coalesces and strengthens into something that can be conveyed.

 Sometimes my hand seems to act independently. I observe in amazement as posts seem to write themselves. Sometimes words and ideas pour into the margins of the page after my initial thoughts have already been set to paper. 

Sometimes, for various reasons, sizable periods go by when I don't write. I begin to feel almost guilty, feel as if I am denying myself the structure and emotional and intellectual outlet and exercise afforded to me by writing. 

The act of writing is intriguing to me. I am curious by nature. So I write.