So many men living in their perpetual anger and denial strike out, injuring others. Knowing there is much amiss, they become shamed and seek greater isolation. More disconnection, more silence, more joyless, angry nights. We all suspect that during the night, and further, within our blood, swirls histories of tormented ancestors. They have handed down to us, if not knowledge or actual memory, our collective history of war, hunger, rage, oppression, broken bonds, injured lovers as well as the remorse of missed celebrations, fetes and joyous births. We know we cannot escape this history, it is a part of us as surely as is the piece of bread we ate earlier, and like the bread, parts pass though us but some remains to construct the who and what we are.
From a book of essays currently being written by Robert called why?
FATHER'S HANDS, Srebrenica Bosnia, May 2015 by Robert Golden