"the opposite of war"

“who were these individuals? who were the three who walked together and left footprints in the rain? who was the gilled baby – the one with the waggly tail? who was the baal shem tov, who taught, danced, and dug clay? he survived among the children of exiles whose footprints on the bare earth jeremiah kissed centuries later? … russian christians and european christians alike tried to wipe all those survivors of children in exile from the ground of the earth as a man wipes a plate – survivors of exiles whose feet and whose footprints on the ground we might well kiss. who and of what import were the men whose bones bulk the great wall the thirty million mao starved, or the thirty million children not yet five who die each year now? why, they are the insignificant others, of course; living or dead, they are just some of the plentiful others.

a newborn slept in a shell of tinfoil; a dutchman watched a crab in the desert; a punch drunk airport skycap joined me for a cigaretter. and you? to what end were we billions of odd balls born? which of all these people are still alive? you are alive, that is certain. we living men and women address one another confident that we share membership in the same elite minority, the now-living. as i write this i am still alive, but of course i might well have died by the time you read it. the dutch traveler has likely not yet died his death, nor the porter. the baked potato baby is probably not yet pushing up daisies. the one you love?”

– annie dillard