The Birth & Death of Hate

HATE cannot survive in the light.

It requires enclosed spaces . It forces us to see only the shadows of real things, but never the real things themselves.

HATE is clever. It is born where no one will look: in the echoing rooms of joyous friends holding hands and singing songs, offering safe reflections and easy conversation about common threads and talk of a new dawn.

You see, we forget that hate begins with us, not them.

And so we continue on our path of righteousness, listening for the applause and, of course, finding it. Soon we’re surrounded by those we deem to be the truth-tellers and that feels good but staying inside keeps us out of the light and our dance takes a turn. As the high fives and handshakes multiply, we start having more and more trouble denying the rigidity in our steps.

We seek a reason for our uniform dance. HATE is happy to provide that for us.

It always points to the same place: the soft-edged shadows on the floors and walls, reaching in through the windows and doorways like claws. They change shape and manifest in different ways but always seem to be coming for us.

The sun senses the change in our steps and knows its own unique power over HATE, which is why it changes the shape of the shadows.

The sun is calling us to the horizon, trying to remind us that HATE, in its cowardice and ghostliness, is easy to destroy, that the shadows are not claws and never were, and their source, divinely different than anything we know, is waiting to be found outside.

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