Home is where i want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - born with a weak heart
guess i must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok i know nothing's wrong . . nothing
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - born with a weak heart
guess i must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok i know nothing's wrong . . nothing
Talking Heads, This Must Be the Place, from the album Once in a Lifetime
With feet on the ground and head in the sky, home is where I want to be. It's ok, I know nothing is wrong.
These runs we do, they make us strong, they make us weak. Through urban forests heavy with hoar frost, along ancient trails by a white Red River, with heart pumping, and mind empty. These runs we do, they make us whole in spirt, they they make us strong in muscle, they make us weak with love. With oxygenated blood flooding our brains, they elevate us, they transform our minds and our bodies. These runs we do, with feet on the ground and head in the sky.
These runs we do, they make us strong, they make us weak. We run to remember, and to try to make sense of the incomprehensible. With tears brimming we consider the 26 dead, a marathon of pain. Google images show the unbearably beautiful, smiling faces of children now gone. Their parents' anguish frozen in photographs; dozens and dozens of painful, indescribable painful photographs of the tiny beloved gone and the families left behind to mourn. Will they ever recover?
The hearts of parents everywhere are broken. We want to reach out to them, to say it's okay, we love you, and we care so, so deeply for you, your loss is unbearable. We want to embrace them as if, through osmosis, we can absorb some of their pain. To share their grief. Just to hold them, to embrace them, to wrap them in a warm blanket of love and comfort. To say... I... am... sorry.
These runs we do, they make us strong, they make us weak. They help us reach deep, deep into the cellar of our brain and heart. These runs we do, in silence and in complete devotion to peace, we think and we pray. With feet on the ground, head in the sky, home is where we want to be, home is where we want the children to be. Home, with their parents. Home is where they cannot be.
My friends, you do what you need to do, but take a moment to reach out to your child. To lightly brush your hand against their back as they walk by. To quietly touch their head as they sleep. To tell them you love them. With feet on the ground and head in the sky, our hearts are shattered.
It is a day. We are alive.
Mike
