Adam Lanza left home last Friday morning with blood on his hands. He had already done the unimaginable, the publicly inexplicable act. The moment that Nancy Lanza’s face and head joined that of assassinated president John F. Kennedy, there was absolutely no turning back for Adam. In many ways he was being the first of his kind–in his family, his close-knit community and his state of Connecticut. That is a horrendously tragic symbolism with the first Adam who also lived in an idyllic place called Eden.

The whole world reels with the “why” question. But in Adam’s mind the question was never really why but when and how. For the years in his short life he had also asked why to a different type of question. Why was he so lonely? Why was the rest of humanity so distantly uncaring and passive about the inner suffering that he woke and walked with every day?

His next of kin would have been animals and it inflamed his tolerance of people when he saw how cruelly these innocent creatures were being treated and killed by man. So to a large extent, Adam Lanza did not feel comfortable being identified with the human race.

Then throughout the torn affliction of divorce, his seemingly best friend, his mother, in an attempt to stand with him introduced him to a passionate hobby that seemed to magically erase all his mother’s hurt and pain. It was target shooting. His mom on the shooting range was like Michael Jackson when music started playing. The transformation was sudden and it was dynamic.

He, too, began to enjoy the comforting feel of a gun in his hands. He began to see guns as an escape route and their bullets a most mystical pacifier. Wouldn’t his mom prefer to lie happily in the company of these penetratingly friendly bullets rather than face the shameful onslaught of all of apathetic humanity after he had done what he had to do?

He loved his mother too much to consider any other alternative.

Adam Lanza knew the pain inside him was never going to cease until he left. He had seen enough of humanity’s mistreatment and what he considered wanton abuse of all that he saw as his hope for being alive. He concluded he had to somehow find a way to make people understand and feel the hurt he has felt because they have taken away his hope.

So the community of toddlers and those very young children fit neatly it seemed in filling this psychological niche of his. There is no force like the power of a made up mind and so Adam Lanza left home last Friday on a journey that could not end here. He figured his was the path of a societal awakening that he would not look back on. He knew this going away project of his would speak louder than any tweet, letter to congress, appeal to his dad or any other socially acceptable means of communication.

He wanted them to go quickly and as painlessly as possible. He had seen what the Bushmaster could do and so Adam Lanza selected what his little survivors would later call “the long gun”. He knew too that unless his once-looked-to human counter parts got the message and, more importantly, acted on the message there would be others like him to elude man’s myopic radars and swiftly and suddenly send their communities on a journey to hell on earth.

When one man hurt is not attended to then that man makes all around him hurt when he can hurt no more.

Will we act on Adam Lanza’s message?

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