That it was Patriot’s Day was completely lost on me. We have a house guest for the week and were involved at that point and other things. I was finishing my taxes (Yes it was the last minute, but I neither owed anything nor was due a refund so I didn’t care) and I thought I needed some bit of information from my bank and called to see about it. No answer. That’s when I began to suspect one of their many days of much needed rest from their labors.

Later CA came running up to where I was working and told me of the news she had seen on Yahoo. Tragedy at the Boston Marathon. People killed, blown apart and injured. I got up to speed quickly. Such a senseless act. This kind of thing goes on in other parts of the world all the time and we have grown used to hearing of it, and at some level accepting it over there. I mean, nobody hates Boston, unless you drive there, of course.

But somebody hated something or somebody, that’s for sure. There was a prayer I saw several places, “Please let it not be an Arab or a Muslim.” But, that is exactly where my mind went as it raced forward in anger. I tried to sift through the conflicting emotions boiling in my mind: turn the other cheek or rip out their hearts. Though many hours have passed, I must confess – I want their hearts. I want the hearts of their fathers and their father’s fathers. I want to destroy their temples, their holy places. I want to wipe out their seed from the face of the earth. Hate.

I do not like the hate. It poisons everything. That is what these people have done to me. To us as a nation. And I have to ask the question: is it necessary to hate in order to find justice? Or does hate hinder justice? Hate has to go somewhere and often, as history has told us, it has gone to the wrong person or persons. Hate blinds. Truth is seldom found through hate.

I saw that man being wheeled away with the bones of his legs below the knees splayed and bloody. People were running and shouting. Policemen with hands on their side arms watching. Terror. Mission accomplished. But it is the hate that boils up within my heart that is the real issue. The real mission accomplished. I do not like it. I’m not sure I can quickly move past the hate and the shadowy need for vengeance, but, I have the tools to work on it. Some of them are a little rusty, but they’ll do.

Out of the blue came this realization: it wouldn’t have made any difference at all if there had been a pistol in every pocket in Boston. That’s part of the genius of terror.

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