This morning, as I sit quietly looking out my window, the sky begins to paint itself deep pink verging on red. The colour bleeds into the expanse of the sky and within minutes, the magic recedes again into blue-grey sky. I know that this will happen again and again for the watching.
As I look down at my iPad, news breaks of war in Iran. The United States have cemented their bond in a joint attack on Iran. The goal explicitly and somewhat confusingly expressed is regime change. People are both exhilarated in the hope of some form of liberation and terrified. They realise that to kill the Ayatollah and a few visible leaders is not the end of a violent and repressive system. The world is holding a common collective breath.
“The world is holding a common collective breath.”
Time to shift and get ready to see my brother who is hospitalized after a stroke leaving his right and dominant side severely compromised. We are close. I watch as he works hard and methodically to open a single serving milk carton solely using his left hand. He lifts the milk carton with the same hard-working left hand and drinks. One more mission accomplished for now.
These three events all within the opening hours of a Saturday morning in late February, 2026. They are clearly not unique to me. They are common in their own way to all of us.
These questions surface:
How much can the human nervous system bear?
How much of life can we digest in these short time frames?
And most importantly, how can we become safety and belonging for and with each other?
-Sister Margo Ritchie, csj
Images: Victoria Morgan/Tim Christopher Klonk/Unsplash