Writers Harbor

I stand on a Mountain Top, and cry to the World

An old Yazidi man, a patriarch to his people.

A moment in time. An event that took place. Already forgotten. In the West, we shrug our shoulders. In the USA today, somebody, reliably, affecting an air of wisdom, will utter the usual platitude. The customary escape from an uncomfortable call of conscience.
“Well, they’ve been fighting like that for thousands of years…” As if it’s their own fault, in a way. The Comforter-Ignorer’s listeners nod gravely, in relieved assent. Those crazy Middle-Easterners HAVE been fighting and killing like that for centuries. There’s nothing that can be done. Too bad. You want regular fries with that, Sir? Oh, and make it a double Cheeseburger. Extra cheese. Yes, Sir.

* * * * *

I stand on a Mountain Top, and cry to the World.

It is dark, it is cold, the night is full of unspeakable horrors. I am surrounded by many thousands of my people. In the shadows, without shelter, or basic food or water, they shiver, despair and die.

And you, oh World, where are you?

We are an ancient and gentle people, and we are peaceful and non-threatening. We have co-existed with other races and religions since Jesus walked in the Holy Land.

Why do you lament the plight of the people of Gaza, but you ignore us?

Are we not human? Do we not deserve our chance at happiness? Will you let us be dragged into the night, like beasts to the slaughter? Will you turn your backs on us? Are we an inconvenience to you? We have seen our unarmed sons killed, mowed down like the ripe corn before the scythe. We have seen our children massacred, and our daughters raped, and dragged off in chains to slavery. We have seen our ancient home towns looted and burned, and laughing jackals have sprayed us with random and indifferent bullets.

And you, oh World, where is your heart?

In my younger days, I visited for many years in America. I graduated as an engineer from a prestigious University. I know how you are. I know how you think. Or do not think. How can you not see the shallow nature of your caring? Your President has turned away from us. Your leaders have declined this challenge to human civilization. Your hearts are withering, even now.

And Great Father above, the Merciful One, where are you?

I still see the faces of my fellow students in America, all those decades ago. The Atheists, the Doubters, the hardened cynics. The way they would mock my sincere beliefs, the way their eyes would barely conceal their contempt for my simplicity. Great Father, in all my thoughts, and all my efforts, I have never forgotten you. I have tried to honor you with every breath I took. Each day, my heart has soared to feel your Patient Wisdom and Presence in my life. But now, Lord, where are you? Your people need you as never before. Tears flow like rivers, and our hearts break. Our chests heave in pain, and a rock resides where once our hearts beat warmly. Stifled, shocked into a dazed trance, I gaze up at the stars, and still, in my own simple way, I give thanks and praise to you, heavenly Father.

Am I a fool?

Am I deserving of those contemptuous glances I suffered, all those years ago? When I was young, educated, and full of energy? Were my fellow students, those Atheists, right in their cold rejection of any notion of your existence?

So why does my heart -still- cry out to you?

Why can I not be like Job, and curse you before I die? Why does my educated mind easily see the logic of the Atheist? But why are my mind and my education , my intellect and my reasoning, feeble, overwhelmed, and as nothing when exposed to the cutting edge of the sword of your Presence? What manner of madness is my awe for you? Here, high up on the Sinjar mountains, alone in the night, surrounded by wolves and the beasts of Darkness?

I still believe, Lord. I still believe in your Kindness. The Madness is deep, ingrained, and You cannot be denied. I hear the cries of my people, and I see the mockery in the glances of the Atheists. I know their reasoning, and I know the power of their Science.

I shall die on this mountain, alone, tonight. Uncomforted by my family. I harbor, strangely, no bitterness or anger. The beasts in the valley below, I hate them not. Their cruelty saddens me. But they have not destroyed my heart. And my God above, who has seemingly forsaken me, I curse Him not.

What madness occupies my heart? Is it written in my DNA, that I must venerate a mythical deity? Is it simply comforting, and a crutch for feeble minds? Is it foolishness, and a denial of sober rationality? A denial of Science and Physics? A mental illness?
Here, with the unrelenting wind of the fearful night clutching like cold fingers at my throat, is a place to truly know my heart.

And I know. With a strange, unrelenting, unquenchable certainty.

That there exists, unbelievably, illogically…

A Great Cosmic Kindness. An Awereness. Even, of such a small, insignificant a creature…

As I.

The stars are bright tonight…

Francis Meyrick

References: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinjar_massacre

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on August 20, 2015, 1:23 pm