Reflections of Joy and Sorrow

I am sorry for this reflection. No, wait, I am not…

In these moments of jubilation

(even in my waking they continue, even if I had not put on the news),

I am struck by the trauma that ripples through by body from the fear and terror that I have not directly experienced,

also in just the last few days.

I am aware that the same phenomenon of feeling that which is not mine is oddly similar.

As I see the joy in the faces of my team and fellow fans,

I will not forget the horror of what it must be like to know someone sent a bomb to me,

Or what it must be like to be shot and killed at a grocery store because of the color of my skin,

Or what it must be like to be a person of faith and tradition, praying, only to be gunned down.

While I experience the joy of victory vicariously for the success of others,

I will not deny that I am still shaken by the tide of hate.

Today,

As I slide between these extremes,

I feel like my mind, body, heart, and soul are not only my own.