As the world evolves into yet another journey of cyclical developmental levels, it would seem that stones (should?) no longer get thrown.
As we become more knowledgeable, are we, thus, wiser?
Do our usage of acquired power from gained knowledge become weaponry to hurt? To heal? Depends? What side you are standing on, your sub-conscience whispers?
History tells us people were physically stoned to death as punishment or simply, to rid of due to some enforced or influenced agreement.
While we were told or convinced of reasons why, do we chance to dig deep and ask, Was that the real reason for the stoning?
Are we each so perfectly righteous to be unequivocally given rights to stone another?
When Japanese soldiers came out of hiding from the jungles at the end of World War II, as I have shared, Mama told me she picked up a stone, following others around her, ready to cast anger and fury on those who had inflicted fear, pain, and destruction upon them on their native land.
She had always imagined the Japanese as huge giants, able to take down multitudes of them at once.
As others stoned, scratched, punched, and struck the Japanese soldiers coming out of hiding, what she only saw were emaciated beings looking down, wretched, too tired to fear or fight any blows of attacks.
Mama dropped her stone and could only cry while uttering the words, “War is ugly!”, in her dialect.
She was yet a child.
I never felt my place to ask, If she had been an adult, would she have reacted differently?
Would she have understood, thus, joined those women who screamed and cried their pains, joined by even some of the men and other children?
Papa strictly opposed the ordered death penalty of Timothy McVeigh, to a point where he wrote a letter, peacefully suggesting none of us be the judge.
I quietly listened, but had nothing to return in agreement or disagreement.
I had lost no one directly by that Oklahoma atrocity. My feelings, regardless the shallowness or depth of empathy, could create no comfort or known powers to reverse such losses.
I recall Papa’s eyes looking at me. I believe he knew my silence too well.
Stones, big or small, cover dirt grounds and embellish gardens or greenery.
When picked up to be thrown out of anger or hate, they possess a different purpose to them, carrying bitterness, spite, and (justified?) judgment.
While stones may not be the first response that comes to mind in avenging for justice or casting merited judgment, are we any better today?
When no stones are found to be thrown, do we still find ways to castigate, with even hopes to destroy the character, reputation, or nature of another?
While the body may not be physically thrown stones today, do we still find ways to try and maim or sadly, kill people’s hearts, minds, spirits, if not directly, their bodies, for reasons some would not want to look at their reflection to privately admit?
While we witness children to perhaps be the culprit of such behaviors, as a middle school teacher and mother, I find myself wondering at times, if they are only a replica, an influenced copy-cat of their society, perpetrators of what they hear, see, smell, taste, or feel, seemingly competing to be better than their predecessors.
In what? Casting stones?
Assimilation with adaptation at best? Thrivers if not, survivors, of their surroundings?
Social Darwinism? Survival of the fittest? Fit for whom? Deemed by whom? Under what fair declaration? By whom?
Grown, are we all innocent of our ways? Have we modeled what we envision as part of peace, love, and harmony?
Or, subconsciously, are we truly self-destructive beings as we have been historically suggested to be, insatiable, filled with greed and selfishness?
Do, then, our stones ricochet at times when thrown to a regrettable consequence?
Do we not hold onto the same stones to be thrown again, to be picked up by yet another? Maybe not at the same targets, but by the passed-on reasons as to why we do?
Those stones, no matter the centuries of ages each withhold, are they not naturally beautiful under light until heaviness, darkness from bitterness and anger, take a hold of them to be casted?
Perhaps there are some of us who stand against the wreckage of the heart, mind, body, and spirit. While stones have been thrown, we have risen and walked away, better and stronger, forgiveness, at best, for the tried attempts to take even the most rightful or righteous down.
When those that speak of that one that stands distanced from darkness, wrongdoings, and pure ugly, perhaps you stand to be that exceptional piece whereas all others can look at you and think, “There is still hope for good.”
And, still, maybe you have been the one to take on the stones thrown only because all others want to rid of the outlier, no matter how right or righteous you may be; looking at you, having you in their presence, is just a reminder of what they failed to be or will ever become.
Ridding of you would smoothen out any wrinkles of the warm cover to all the rest finding comfort.
Perhaps you are the good reaper of the good sown.
Relentlessly, you reap, strong faith in the near-coming harvest.
And, yet, stones come your way, in attempt to take you down; down with your hopes to not just pass on goodness, but propagate such to where all weeds will have no place or room.
And, yet, no matter how much you put love and care to a seed, you begin to take note, sadly, not all always develop and flourish in the way that you had hoped.
As a mother of five, I still look at my children whether directly or in thought, hearing myself say, “I love you no matter what.”
That faith of goodness to overcome any contrary is in part of the sowing to the end.
That is the pain and sacrifice of undying, unrelenting, unconditional love… you fearlessly accept your hopes and dreams for a child may not come to full fruition.
You believe. You must believe.
Each of us, a testament of time to stones having been thrown, one direction or another.
Stones thrown to hurt, cut, and bruise.
Still, you hope. In silence, you hope. You hope for all good to come out of even most precarious times for victories.
There is that inner self that eventually and ultimately makes that final decision to focus on what we can control, our own selves.
How can we control anything beyond, especially those only meant to be guided?
To hold one fully accountable of who they have chosen to become, once able to fly away, you let them spread their wings to find out for themselves who they truly are.
That shield you didn’t get as a child when your protector, in my case, Papa, wasn’t around couldn’t always be there.
And when it was, funny thing is, we pushed it away as if we didn’t need or want it.
We find excuses as to why we push what was once so welcomed, away. And, if they push harder to protect, we may deem them too much, going overboard, or simply, losing their minds.
In reality, the only thing being lost is the guidance and guardianship they had always provided us when we had so taken them for granted as a child.
It is within our growth, that moment of realization, following years of resistance, thinking we no longer need such protection, where we realize, their shield was what gave us the confidence and strength to do without it, to push out and away from the nest, wanting to prove our wings were strong enough on their own.
In our turn to shield and protect, it is us, our very hearts, minds, bodies, and spirits that come to realize, we will always require the same.
The truth loudly and unbearably speaks in its power to teach and humble us.
Stones get thrown and castigation, at times, faced in silence.
There is this realization that if there can be no wrong proven, still, wrong can be created and thus, found.
Beyond you is prayer that the armor of salvation, righteousness, peace, faith, and the spirit within continues to protect, with or without your protector as a child.
The ricochet and preservation of stones continues.
Where is thy armor built for you and freely given, however?
Is it that you have forgotten how to shield?
Or, is it that your shield has been forgotten?
In rhetoric, either way, were stones a part of such armor?
Do we stand as a reminder for our love ones to protect themselves with right armor?
Or, in having forgotten, have we traded all in for stones instead?
