It’s a powerful word.  It takes a lot of breath to make its sound.  Responsible parents and well-prepared preschool teachers, Mr. Rogers and the benevolent, life-lesson-sharing denizens of Sesame Street have cautioned against the intractable nature of its use.  It’s wrong…right?  And yet, HATE, which seems to have purchase in our DNA like the spleen or the thyroid or the pituitary, requires minimal and subtle stimulus to spring to life, and once activated, it is easily whipped into demonic frenzy.  It is mostly devoid of logic.  In its many nuanced forms, it is massaged by bullies to trigger the fear-induced picking of sides, outweighing considerations of kindness or humanity and often, way too often, common sense.  The tribal hatred of “others” has spawned holy and unholy wars since the dawn of mankind and the studied use of that psychology has metastasized into every thread of the benign and cancerous fabric of our lives:  governance, religion, education, conservation, sports, medicine, nutrition, advertising, etc., etc., etc.  We draw lines in the proverbial sand and spew hateful epithets to those who would wiggle their toes on the other side. They get tagged as blasphemers and dumbshits, quacks and weirdos while their counterparts cheer, not just metaphorically, for the death of the opposing team, using “tree-hugger” and “pacifist” as profanity.

My eyes are still not dry from the remembrance of the life and passing of John Lewis, the flesh and blood antithesis to HATE, and through my tears of sadness for what could have been…what should have been…what I naively struggle to believe could still be, I mostly see and hear the sneers and shrieks and taunts of a world gone mad…and I HATE that!