PARKLAND & CORAL SPRINGS FLORIDA • MSD STRONG

Seventeen suns rising in seventeen bedroom windows. Thirty-four eyes blooming open with the light of one more morning.

Seventeen reflections in the bathroom mirror. Seventeen backpacks or briefcases stuffed with textbooks or lesson plans.

Seventeen good mornings at kitchen breakfasts and seventeen goodbyes at front doors.

Seventeen drives through palm-lined streets and miles of crammed highways to Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School at 5901 Pine Island Road. The first bell ringing-in one last school day on February fourteenth, 2018.

Seventeen echoes of footsteps down hallways for five class periods: algebra, poetry, biology, art, history. Seventeen hands writing on whiteboards or taking notes at their desks until the first gunshot at 2:21pm. One AR-15 rifle in the hands of a nineteen year old mind turning hate for himself into hate for others, into one-hundred fifty bullets fired in six minutes through building number twelve.

Seventeen dead carried down hallways they walked, past cases of trophies they won, flyers for clubs they belonged to, lockers they won’t open again. Seventeen Valentine’s Day dates broken and cards unopened. Seventeen bodies to identify, dozens of photo albums to page through and remember their lives. Seventeen caskets and burial garments to choose for them.

Seventeen funerals to attend in twelve days. Seventeen graves dug and headstones placed—all marked with the same date of death. Seventeen names: Alyssa. Helena. Scott. Martin—seventeen absentees forever—Nicholas. Aaron. Jamie. Luke—seventeen closets to clear out—Christopher. Cara. Gina. Joaquin—seventeen empty beds—Alaina. Meadow. Alex. Carmen. Peter—

Seventeen reasons to rebel with the hope these will be the last seventeen to be taken by one of threehundred-ninety-three-million guns in America !

Seventeen Funerals BY RICHARD BLANCO

T E M P L E O F TIME

TIME PARKLAND & CORAL SPRINGS FLORIDA MSD STRONG

There is always the need to carry on.

Marjorie Stoneman Douglas

Dear Temple Crew

When I first heard about this project I wasn’t sure what to expect. All I knew was that a bunch of strangers were coming to my home and creating art that was supposed to erase the hurt a little.

I arrived at the build site about two weeks ago, having never used a saw, staple/nail gun, a level and I definitely hadn’t heard the phrase DBS before.

In the past few weeks you all have given immeasurable amounts of patience, guidance, kindness & advice. I have lost a lot of family in the past few years and this last year has been incredibly challenging.

I have been searching for a way to find peace in this world and in the small time we have spent together, you each have shed some light on the path to finding peace.

Like everyone of those goddamn little pieces of wood that have been glued into the floor boards an the alter, you have all given me a little piece of our hearts. I cannot thank you enough for the love and light you brought into my life and I truly hope to see you all again.

Thank you for your time and for what you gave to my community. I am forever grateful for this experience.

All of my love

Rachel Schapiro

A Letter to the crew:

This is my Mantra in my journey of grief:

We build something that people, all people, can use to help their healing process, the forgiveness process… a kind of release, or at-least, just one step in helping that release, in that journey of many steps.

There is no right way or wrong way to grieve, no time table for how long it takes. Grieving can take many forms, anger, desperation, sorrow to name three out of too many to count…

Always hold grief in two hands— Sorrow, irrevocable change in one hand Love, wonder and gratitude in the other..

Helping to heal others is helping to heal ourselves. Together we build something… We call it a Temple— Temple of Time Built with intention, sharing knowledge of building tools, artistic insights and the soft light of the quiet understanding that we all share grief together. We are artists, we are makers, we are builders, we are humans. And we care deeply.

Grief is something we all share, no matter philosophy, religion, politics, moral codes, dogmas we all walk this journey. For a brief moment we do it together. For that moment there is an empathy and understanding, there are no words for it, but the grandmothers, children, truck drivers, first responders, parents, anyone who comes, gets it without explanation.

In a sideways world, there are only a few things that can bring optimism. Here is one.

I’m not saying this should be anyone else’s philosophy or trying to create a dialogue…. I’m only sharing mine.

To this group of illustrious humans… I love and cherish you all very very very much… and it has always been my honor to work beside you. See you in Florida!!!

Much love to you all,

Dash

I am so Sorry this world could not keep you Safe May your journey home be a soft and peaceful one

But our empty seats will never be filled and our empty hearts will never be filled

“Love people man. nothing to it. just love those around you. it will really make that much of a difference in your or anyones life.” Joaquin Oliver

“Dreams and dedication are a powerful combination.” Jaime Guttenburg

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

Those who died yesterday had plans for his morning. And those who died this morning had plans for tonight. Don’t take life for granted. In the blink of an eye, everything can change. So forgive often and love with all your heart. You may never get to have the chance again.

Pain is a terrible thing and you cannot avoid it. But it comes with a choice as to whether or not it makes you a better person… And if you let it make you a better person, you’re already one ` `step closer to healing it 17

BE

Positive Passionate proud to be an EAGLE MP, JB, HB, LA, EK

We all felt it. But didn’t know yet what this Temple would be.

The city of Coral Springs called and asked, we need a name for your Temple.

We were thinking— Temple of Healing? Maggie and David called me “You lost a daughter, you know the difficult feelings around the anniversary, what do you think of the name, Temple of Healing?”

I could feel my reaction immediately. NO!

We can’t offer healing. We can’t tell, suggest, offer, advocate, propose to someone who is in the rawest hardest time of grief how to grieve. Think about it, get back to us, we need to have an answer by today.

I thought back to the temple we built in Ireland in 2015. 45 years after the Troubles but still festering in the hearts of the divided city. A city with one of the highest suicide rates in Western Europe. An artist, a director of plays, outside smoking cigarettes at the local bar, Sandinos challenged me:

You these guys who are building that Temple. What is it?” He demanded and before I could answer he continued. “People come here every year offering us their religions and ideals, who are you to think you have the right to try to heal us?Anger, Frustration, Resentment and a kind of ancient sadness were distilled in his voice.

We are a group of artists, a group of people, building a Temple on top of that hill. We’re out there in the snow, sleet, rain, drizzle and mud building this thing. It’s a gift, just a beautiful thing for your town, for you.”

“We’re all artists here! Look around these tables, musicians, poets, painters, actors. You don’t think we’re artists? you don’t think we can take care of ourselves.” Pints of Guinness, shots of whiskey, music, laughter, some kind of golden light around the bar, yes who are we?

“I don’t know that much really. I know my grief, I lost a daughter, a 20 year old amazing beautiful girl, an amazing artist. I’m here because of her. I’m not telling anyone how to grieve. Just offering something beautiful for you to place something that you might need to let go of. It’s there if you need it, or want it.” I felt his anger which at first felt intimidating, but under it there was something raw and incredibly real. He was offering me a glimpse of his pain. He waves his hand in a final declaration.

You watch a friend get murdered and tell me about it!” and he stormed of into the rainy night. His friends apologized for their friend. I waved it off and went back inside. Later in the evening he returned and found me.

I want to say I’m sorry for how I reacted to you. he said. We held eyes.

You do not have to apologize to me, I said Still I had no right to say, he paused unable to finish his sentence. Honestly, It was my honor to hear you, to feel what it is to live in your city, really, an honor that you could tell me those things.

We embraced and called it a night… Hey! he called out. I turned to face him. Rainy windy night, street lights reflecting light off the angles of water. I’m very sorry for the loss of your daughter. Truly. Bless you brother!

So often when anger thrown as a dagger the common reaction is fight or flight. Grief anger is a different kind of animal, wounded and asking for help not knowing how to ask for help and not wanting help all at the same time. I learned something this night that changed a lot of things.

Who are we to tell people how to heal?

Shots of Ireland Temple

Temple of Hope Temple of Compassion Temple of Resource Temple of Unity

The first year, the year of first… so easy to trigger grief into anxiety and anguish.

Then David suggests Temple of Time.

Soft, Symbolic, Meaningful, a name that doesn’t sound religious or pious, a name that can evolve with significance as we approach the time of the 1st year anniversary of the murder of 14 children, 3 teacher, wounding 17 other children, and two towns that are still in shock and PTSD for what happened on February 14th.

Trepidation

David came back from his second meeting with the town and the pressure that the town was feeling. He told a story about a woman that came up to him after a talk and told him that she did want the memory of her daughter to have anything to do with something that would be burned. She explained that her grandparents were burned by the Nazis, That her sister was burned in a car crash when she was a child. David came home reeling and concerned how is this going to happen… He felt crushed. He shared the story we all felt this weight.

Would the families accept this Temple? Would the kids of the Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High school accept it, the communities? Would they see this as something meaningful, a resource for healing or would they be offended by some kind of presumptuous Burning Man inspired artist group.

They asked us to come and do this. We made our plans, we made our reservations.

We build temples. We are not a Burning Man group, we are not some right wing gun club… Either sides of that vast spectrum— we do not take sides. We have no agenda but to build and share a process and listen to stories that are shared and share our stories. If questions are asked answer thoughtfully. If someone doesn’t know how to use a tool be thoughtful and considerate. Who knows what brings them

When we were invited to go the the Smithsonian I felt so excited. Washington DC, Smithsonian. I have to admit I was excited to tell people. Posted on social media, called my family, told my friends. But I felt so quiet about this build, about this project in Florida. It felt so tender and vulnerable, as if we announced it in a wrong context, even in a small conversation out loud could butterfly affect this into something unreal. We didn’t know

Quiet mind. No expectations. No agendas. No affiliations. Temple mantra: We build this temple for one person.

The dictionary defines Bodhisattva as: A being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to “help” others….

I practiced no expectations no agenda. Bodhisattva vow.

I tried to visualize a perfect scenario-- The first day no one showed up… just us. Sorting out our tools. Going over materials and tools. Scribing the lines for the layout of posts and structural elements. Setting up work stations. Then a few people would show up, a few kids after school might come by and help. Each day a few more people would arrive. Slowly gaining momentum. I tried not to imagine conversations or dialogues. Just a smooth transitions of people arriving to help us build and relationships that would forge by the comradely friendship of building something significant together. I looked forward to slowly learning about these communities. By the last day as we opened there would be community all around us. Supportive and connected. The last day would just be us and as we opened the temple on the 14th there would be this wonderful flow of humanity arriving to leave something, write something, feel something at this Temple we were going to build.

Gold Leaf by Julia Belson-Gal All of our crew members have career specialties and life-skills in which they excel. In his working life, Bac is a expert craftsman who does high-end faux finishes in the homes of Bay-Area legends. When he comes to work on Temples, he teaches us how to gold leaf, something David loves to add to the spire and to elements around the temple. It’s time-consuming, expensive, detail-oriented, physically-stunning, but most importantly, shows people how much we care.

Bac, who came here on a boat from Vietnam when he was 9, was brought up in Sandwich, Cape Cod -- a place settled in 1620 by the Pilgrims. It’s a place I also love and one we connect over. Bac is used to working alone, doing incredibly detailed work with expensive materials--leaving little room to mess up. Because of the focus needed, he prefers quiet. When we were doing gold leaf for the Temple of Time, it was pouring rain and the wind was blowing, a stressful situation to say the least. We parked vans around our tent to baffle the wind and David blocked off our area so we would be left alone. We needed to concentrate.

But soon a few other crew members, and then their family, and then a few hard-working volunteers and curiosity seekers started to drift over. How could we not let them help? How could I not engage in conversation, wasn’t this why we were here? It was hard to concentrate with the distraction, but gold leafing was happening -- in a messy, imperfect, let’s-make-this-work, kind of way. It was a reminder that we weren’t here to demonstrate our abilities, we were here to share. While I guided volunteers in and out of our tent, making sure a variety of people had a chance at this experience, Bac started teaching. It was wonderful to see him share his expertise and to see how excited volunteers were to be allowed into this part of this process. what his favorite thing was to do and he excitedly told me scuba diving! I asked if he had ever explored wrecks, which I knew took special training. He lit up and told me he was taking that class next weekend. And so the discussion began, about apparatus, ways to prevent the benz, and where he wants to dive in the future.

Later someone told me that he had just taken his first diving class that weekend. Someone else mentioned how terribly sad he looked. I don’t know if that was just the beginning of his diving exploration, but I know that he was excited about it. I also can’t possibly know how sad he was, but I witnessed a teenager who had been through great trauma, who was engaging in life and exploring new worlds. To sit together telling stories about the underwater world, brushing gold leaf onto glittering spires --one to memorialize his friend and 16 more to remember the others who were killed--was why we were here. I love that David has the foresight to know the importance of gold leaf -- in both its beauty and its process -- and understands that bringing out Bac, with all his expertise, makes our crew more whole. And ultimately, I’m so glad we are able to work with and learn from our friend Bac.