2000 years after the garden

On nights like these all I can think of is a snake, a garden, a woman and an apple. A memory wiggles around somewhere in my soul – not my mind – that this isn’t how things were supposed to be.

The family of Trayvon Martin will never know what happened. They’ll always wonder if their child was someone other than they person they knew.
George Zimmerman will sleep the sleep of the self-righetous, the innocent, or the tormented. None of us need to know.  His life is his own to work out with his conscience and his God.

The country will argue – over Twitter, dinner, beers, late night hipster coffees, and worst, over 24 hour cable news. But the arguments will be traveling in different lanes, one side defending the right to bear and use arms, one asking about the behavior that led up to moment. Ironically, both sides probably agree with the other on their core premise but never stop long enough – or have the courage – to concede even an inch. (PLEASE, listen to the other side and acknowledge their intelligence when it is due. Do NOT go looking for the holes first, but for the validity.)
Questions will remain:
  •  Should George Zimmerman have gotten out of the car?
  • Did he have the right to defend himself?
  • Did Trayvon Martin have the right to defend himself?
  • Who attacked first?
  • Why a gun?
We’ll never know but we’ll fight like we do.
The only one winning here is a raspy snake who wanted to see mankind brought down from the start. And amazingly he managed to bring that to pass at just a few days into our existence. We need to hire this guy to defeat the national deficit because he gets stuff done.
Still, I hate you devil/Lucifer/Satan and all that you loosed in our world. We had a paradise and in your jealousy you created—well, hell on earth.
You are the worst of worst criminals. You are heartbreak, confusion, mistrust and self-righteousness. You are deceit. May your trial be short, your jury unanimous, and your sentence fitting of your crimes.
In the meantime, I will pray over these nights of discordant heartache and rejoice that they are few. In my world you will not win.
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