Snuff bottles, tang horses, samurai masks and dowagers (all in a row)

only at arm's lengt 60 minutes last night featuring the on-going hell of Rwanda and the specific sector of hell that's been dug for the nation's raped women. Inhuman mutilations, witnessed, repeated - humiliations so shattering I wonder why we have the strength at all to survive them. To what end do these damaged women continue to walk the earth when everything's been wounded? In order that we be reminded of human depravity? ("They've made sex the evil, into the ultimate violence.") Or in them should we find hope? The segment closes with their singing. Every morning at the women's clinic, attended by a saintly doctor then women regard as savior, the women sing about the good that awaits them in the next life. I wonder what the master plan looks like. Do we all in this modern world exist in one narrow band of cosmic purgatory? These Rwandan women hover lower (their space is crowded and dark), some luckier souls hover higher (they can breathe up there), some are at the outer edge of the band - peering down, then up, and "aware" of the "situation". (These are the reporters, recorders, depressives and the mystics.) The majority simply hug the mountain. They might be in heaven, they might be in hell - they rarely stop to consider. They'd really rather, just keep on keeping on. (Head down little lady.)