Dear Hind,
I hoped and hoped and hoped, but you didn’t make it. The paramedics who came to your rescue have also been killed, their ambulance destroyed. Motaz Azaiza delivered the news a few days ago. This isn't something one finds in mainstream sources of information; there, more 'important' matters take precedence, not the 'accidental' death of a six-year-old Palestinian girl.
"You didn’t make it" sounds like you were fighting a serious illness, but you were a perfectly normal, healthy child. You were killed. Somebody shot you.
I can’t even cry; this goes beyond tears.
They call you a casualty. One of many occurring every day. They say that the reason I’m so profoundly shaken is because I now know about you and I’ve seen your eyes full of life in that photo. That all the others don’t have such an impact simply because I don’t know, I’m not told, I don’t see. As if accepting this horrible rationale made me feel better.
You know, what they do in Silicon Valley and the marvels of AI and space exploration make us feel smarter, more valuable. Better humans. But I’d trade all the knowledge and achievements in the world for the life of a six-year-old child. All day. Every day.
We failed miserably. Spectacularly. All of us.
And deserve this world.
Powerful. Heard of her death while watching (on Substack) the replay of Charles Eisenstein’s State of the World address two days ago. Maybe you watched? He defines apocalypse as a lifting of the veil, transparency, disclosure of that which before we could not see so fully, even though it happened before. “This the breakdown of the old stories, and the debris is visible all around us.” He finishes by saying, “No act of beauty, generosity and caring is lost, when all else is obliterated.”
We are forever able to respond, acting for the greater good, and energetically it is remembered in the field of Oneness.
Thank you for your post.