An Easy Essay to Aaron Bushnell
By Niall Twohig
I can’t help but think of a burning bush when I hear your name and that “nell” means shining light. Today, when I heard of your act, I couldn’t bring myself to watch. I instead drove North listening to John Moriarty, the Irishman, speak of how we forget that every rock is sacred, every little creature infused with light, every bush a burning bush. You hadn’t forgot that, had ya Aaron, as those who do drop hellfire on our Gazan brothers and sisters? May we remember, not only the fire that took you, but the fire before that fire – the fire that burns in each bush, in each blade of grass, in each poor creature stuck in the muck and rubble of manmade hell.