You died yesterday. I see so many of my brothers and sisters, our brothers and sisters, dancing on your grave. And I understand the temptation. Ding dong, the witch is dead.  It’s easy to paint a human being, especially one who has done you harm, with broad strokes. Green skin, pointy shoes, a wart on his nose. And sometimes, when you were alive, I saw you that way. But you couldn’t have been, could you?

You must have been a package of contradictions, just like all of us, just like me. You must have carried secret agonies, loads of regret, in the pit of your stomach. Once upon a time, you must have been a little boy that hung out under trees, staring up through the branches, wondering what was out there, past those clouds, past that sun, even. Past everything your mind could know.

Now you know. And in my heart, I see you flying away from this place, not a monster, not a judge, not even a man, but something different altogether. A spark. A bit of light. May the light that was left in you after your long sojourn on this sometimes vicious planet find its way back to its Source.

And I pray that when you come to that place where stars meet heaven, you find love. I pray you find the force that takes a monster and rocks it gently in its arms until it becomes a child again. And I pray that when those arms place the child that is you back in this place, next time, you’ll be different. I pray that when faced with the choice between love and fear, you choose love.

But I can’t choose for you. I can only choose for me. Right now, I’m still here. On this sometimes vicious planet. I’m still a human being, a package of contradictions who was once a little girl who looked up through trees, wondering. I want to choose love now. I want to grant you the gift of mercy, the mercy I hope I will be granted when I fly to the place where stars meet heaven.

All of us are monsters sometimes. All of us are dependent on the undeserved currency of mercy. I know the pit of agony that lives in my own stomach, the load of regret I carry. How can I expect forgiveness for my own petty cruelties when I can’t show you forgiveness for yours?

When I leave this earth, I want to leave a hole in the dark, a Tawni-shaped doorway for light to flow into the world. My hating you will only make the world a darker place. I know that hatred does not combat hate. Hatred makes hate grow. So I will pour a little love on the hatred I am tempted to feel right now. I will choose love over fear. I will choose light.

I will not glory in your death. I will only glory in the fact that my brother has found his way to his infinite Source, that another wounded soul has finally, finally found love.

Fly in peace.

*Photo by the brilliant Jennifer Lewis, https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.a.madison.5

Addendum:  This response to this article was posted on my Facebook wall.  “By all accounts he sounded like a fun man to drink with, hunt with, but just because we are glad that his wrongheaded view of the constitution will no longer harm people does not mean we “glory” (n. ?) in his death and does make us villains.”

I should clarify by saying that I am glad Scalia’s wrongheaded view of the constitution will no longer do people harm.  I think it’s one thing to be relieved that someone’s political influence has come to an end, and an another to be delighted that a human being has met his end.  I have seen/heard multiple people expressing unadulterated delight that Scalia was dead.  “Good riddance, you &^%*$##” kind of stuff.   I’m not judging them or calling them villains.  I’m just saying that’s not the choice I want to make because I don’t believe hatred heals anything.



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