By Clara Elizabeth
We should not be told about war like we are.
We should be told about war like it is the real thing.
(You are in a shrouded room with loved ones about; you are told someone you all love
is gravely sick or has died.)
Instead, we are told about war in a sensationalist and impersonal way.
News is broken by a phone notification, as if from just another lover we barely recall.
As with lovers we’d never let into our hearts at all, we gossip and take sides, our
narratives fueled by unexamined ache, the paranoia, and the moral opiate of feeling
“correct”.
We should be told about war in a way that changes personal meaning to life.
We are all stuck, together. We must begin our extrication right.
We should be told about war like someone saw it themself, not by rooms of bleak
writers stacked in memos about celebrities and trends.
We are told about war in screaming headlines, ‘trauma porn’ propaganda, and cruel
internet jokes. Our fixation divorces us from the actual fact: we are all in too deep
together and we don’t know how to get out.
We should be told about war like we are told about the health of the Buddha. The
opportunity for the pacification of suffering lies in their heart.
But soon, unarmed, we will have to fend for ourselves.