The day opens, in the Kitchen, the children come down to eat, there is tension, the argument the night before, the air is thick, you want the place to yourself, stuff is going around your head, and the silence does not help. Fighting the inner demon, you shout off your mouth too often, booze perhaps, you don’t want to admit it, since he walked out on you and the kids it’s not the same, the letter in the post and the imminent divorce hearing, the children heard the screams you made, trying to stay afloat in a very emotional world. The grief counselor advised you to try new things, the children will have to get used to a new surrounds, but you can’t let go, then you remember the old times, it was good, music in the morning, you had them humming in the car. Putting the kettle down, you reach for the radio, the delay as you put your finger on the on button, you don’t want to hear the music you all listened to as a family, when is father coming home, the call, what a heart break, you are in tears every time they say those hard words, worse than a death, he is loving someone else.
The music comes on, the children bob their heads in tandem, the anger seems to let go, you watch them, what did they do to deserve this breakdown in their life. You think, you forget the hurt, you feel the need in front of your eyes, later you read the papers, you begin to see through immigrant eyes, cause isn’t that what we all are, seekers.
Solomon sighed, he had a dream, the child without a parent, the small boy calling out for his father, someone to sort it out, the same needs all over the globe, the feeling of security, someone you can discuss your emotions with, without fear. The so called experts can only plan for failure, when things go wrong they come up with the answers, never before, always later. Too much for many, the tyrants the same experts support are causing a flood of people on the move, of course they give the well spun answers, while the UN hide, well, it takes so much time to get it organised they say, same as the plight of Palestine, a concrete heap, where children become scarred with hatred. With the signs in the sky, they better get active sighed Solomon, amen.
Meanwhile, breakfast becomes a new musical festival every day, the joy returns, each one of you has their own playlist, and inside you begin to shine.