Friday, April 11, 2008

Juarez Reflection: From the Fisherman's Grip


As I exited my vehicle this evening, I was struck by the familiarity of a disturbing scene. Just beyond the front bumper, were two dogs struggling with each other and making a ruckus. I stopped to take in their interaction and realized that the aggressive male dog was in fact doing everything in its power to overcome the other for sex. Both dogs snarled and bared their teeth to each other, and the female often attacked the male dog – biting, scratching, clawing, desperate. She screeched in pain as her body was often jarred in a position of defense struggling time and again, successfully and not, to squeeze out from under each piercing violent advancement of the pursuing animal.

I turned from the perverse scene knowing the outcome. Though much larger, the female will eventually be unable to thwart the persistant pounding heart of animal instinct, and she will soon be pregnant with one of her many litters as she lies tired and defeated in the unsheltered street. The other will leave to scrounge for what little bits it can steal whilst continually prowling for another breathing thing to fulfill its driving mechanical needs unaware of the despair caused to a puppy plagued with mange, disease, starvation, and neglect.

And now, as I stare out at the interaction of this city, I see each rooftop and disquieted human, each drug addict and federal police officer, each wisp of feces and pile of rotten garbage, and each rooster crow and bolstering mega-phone as it paints the very face of this brimming cup of human calamity.

It is like a bowl of dampened worms slithering over each other to get free from the certain death of a fisherman’s grip.

Juarez Reflection: The Fiercest of all Horrors


The flashing police lights turn just ahead of us, and I slow in observance. Following the flow of traffic, we pass creeping by, and I lock my gaze on the woman's corpse, rigid with rigormortous, and she is surrounded on either side by police men with their patrol vehicles. Her back arches stiff seemingly from the pain, she wears a blue blouse over black shorts with one shoe kicked off, and her teeth bear in the grimace of her face.

The image seers into my psyche like this unrelenting desert sun, and my shock comes from inside myself as I search for the wells of compassion and empathy within only to find them blown and dry as they gradually fill with sand. My spirit collapses torturingly slow under the immense weight of desensitization, and I search desperately for the arms of my Father as I cower and stare timidly into the sunken eyes of apathy – the fiercest of all horrors.