Balloonists

Until yesterday, I knew very little about Charlie Kirk. I had heard about him or read his name online, but my exposure to him was limited to reading a few quotations attributed to him. I found offensive his condemnation of virtually anything remotely “liberal,” but beyond that I knew almost nothing. The volume of reactions to his assassination surprised me, but only because I did not realize he had such a large following. If his assassin thought Kirk’s death would diminish support of the man’s ideology, the killer was more than a little bit stupid, along with being mentally unhinged and morally deranged. I expect the assassination to be used as fuel for the fires of bigotry and hatred by those among Kirk’s supporters who are equally as unhinged and morally deranged as his assassin. My understanding is that Kirk’s wife and  two children were in attendance at the event at which he was killed. I can only imagine the depth of the trauma and pain they must be experiencing. I hope the assassin is caught soon and brought to justice.

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A word or action, as expected, sparks an obligatory reply: indignation. Indignation provides fuel for frustration, which leads to exasperation. Exasperation builds into the ire that becomes the foundation for anger. Anger expands into rage and then into hatred. The fact that hatred unleashes unbridled and irrational fury should come as no surprise. At the end of the day, that simple provocation—that spark—too often leads to  violence. The cycle is as predictable as sunrise. But, unlike the sunrise, we have the capacity to intervene in the cycle of violence. What’s missing is the will to intercede on behalf of tranquility and understanding. And the acknowledgement that responsibility for creating or perpetuating the cycle belongs not just to “them” but to “us.” Unfortunately, attempting to reason with a psychopath (which are numerous on every side of every issue) is an utter waste of time. So, often, our capacity to intervene is thwarted. Victory, then, goes to the one with the most patience and the longest fuse. In the meantime, we should try to minimize the number of casualties.

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Yesterday’s bronchoscopy was, happily, uneventful. It (and the sleep before and after the procedure) consumed the bulk of the day. The “moderate sedation” administered to me amazes me. I recall a nurse saying the doctor would begin the procedure in a moment, as she was spraying lidocaine into my throat. The next thing I recall was opening my eyes in the recovery room. The doctor had told me before that I would be awake during the procedure, but would not recall anything about it. He was absolutely right about that. I think the anesthesiology process is like magic!  But, the results: Nothing of significance. The concern about a fistula was, apparently, unfounded. I return to visit my oncologist tomorrow; perhaps I will learn something new then. Probably not, though.

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Today, I plan to send messages to all of the people who were so kind and thoughtful to record video messages to me (as I mentioned in my most recent post). I have learned that some people attempted to submit recordings, but were unable to get the technology to cooperate; I appreciate their efforts, as well. I may try to figure out a way to incorporate the video here on my blog; that’s probably beyond my technological capabilities, though.

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I thought I had more to say…and I did. But empty spaces where fragments of the alphabet might want to congregate are sometimes better left blank. Unfinished thoughts can reveal their familial relationship with balloons…stretched so tight they are on the verge of exploding into invisible clouds. I’ve ridden in a hot air balloon and I’ve jumped from an airplane, but I’ve never jumped from a balloon and have no plans to do so.