We all share a common thread. We are one. Our power is singular, like a thread that weaves its way through a warming blanket. At this time in our history when we highlight our dissimilarities for personal gain, it is essential that we remember our common thread. A thread that is being tugged in an attempt to unravel the safety blanket of humanity, our commonality.
We are one, indistinguishable in spirit, and varied in the flesh. There are 7,500 types of apples, and I am confident that you could not name twenty. We know nothing about apples. We don’t know anything about anything, only a proud fool believes otherwise.
But, if we don’t know an apple, how can we know humankind? How can we know nature? How can you know what a leader is? What do we know? Nothing.
There is one thing we can say with certainty. We will know most things in this life, the same way that we see the apple. Confident that we have an understanding. Certain that we can hold that understanding in the palm of our hand and pass it to another.
The only thing we will be able to grasp, however, is a handful of ignorance. This life can not be grasped. But finding and highlighting differences is akin to violence while recognizing and accepting our commonalities is the medicine that we so desperately need.
There is a common thread of life that runs through all things, and it will not be separated. Why? Separated for what, greed, envy, stupidity and a lack of understanding? Will life itself be interrupted because of silly human ignorance and blindness? It will not.
Human desires for personal and political gains are hardly mighty enough to combat the ethereal power of the thread of life. It is one. We are one. We will live as one, and we will die as one. The universe, God, fate, all laugh at our pitiful attempts to overpower a force that we can not even point to or define.
A black man, a king, an immigrant, a fool, a slave, an employee, a klansman these are apples. The same life fills them all, just as the same death will consume them all. A quilt of humanity, with tattered corners, ripping at the seams. Men and women on each patch decided in their minds and lost in their hearts that they don’t belong to another patch.
Blind fools in every corner pulling, ripping, tearing, demolishing our quilt; Our quilt, an incomprehensible weave of thread that represents the patchwork that is us, humanity. Us. Dissimilar, disjointed, and yet conjoined by this thread that is life. A thread that will not be broken, without breaking us with it.
But, we will all freeze to death because this thread cannot be portioned. It is a transmission line that can not be severed. Yes, it may be interrupted, and service may seem to cease at times. But without this common thread, without the understanding that this thread is what gives life to all, power to all; Good, evil, strong, weak, trampler and trampled, then we know nothing. We are doomed to repeat the past. Is it not our goal to defeat the past, and not to repeat the past.
Step one is to understand that we are one. Or else we will freeze, grasping a single piece of thread, that is tied to nothing.
Aaron L. Carroll
Photo by Lewis Fagg