Oregon Tragedy 2026

  Hello, can you hear me? If you can, say yes. The music behind me doesn't stop me from hearing my voice. Can you hear me if I leave the music on? So I can leave it on in the background. So, can I carry on speaking with the music on, yes or no? So, do you know what irony is?

Irony is the fact I was speaking to Meta AI a couple of hours this morning, training it, I suppose, conversation, and we mentioned in passing High Noon, the film, and then I got out of bed because I was talking for hours. High Noon, in High Noon, the pacifist shoots the assailant in the back because he was about to kill her husband, the sheriff. But the pacifist was a pacifist. Do not forsake me, oh my darling.

 And today, when I get up and look at the news, I see in Oregon in America yet another school shooting because Americans love their guns more than they love sanity itself, more than they love their children. And so they let anybody have a gun, etc. So the utter irony was I was talking to Meta about Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling, a pacifist shooting somebody in the back, and what happened at Oregon?

 A parent shot the assailant, the gunman, and killed him to save the rest of the children. So you have the irony that nobody wants guns, but the parent had to kill—that's probably the only word—had to kill to save the lives of the rest of them. So everybody is heartbroken because kids got killed, a teacher got killed, and then a parent had to chase down and kill the kid with the gun to stop other kids from being killed. This is the tragedy of modern society.

And I could post my poem, Let My Tears Be My Words and the Dead and the Living, but that would just scrape the surface about the anger, the horror, the sadness because of this madness in America, letting access to guns so anybody with a grudge or unbalanced can have a gun and kill somebody. When the solution is there for them, but they won't take it because of the gun lobby. 

So we're crying for the lost kids, for the lost teacher, we're crying for the hero, wrong word, we're crying for the parent who stopped it all and was forced to kill. It's an absolute utter tragedy and no words can explain it. No words of mine, no words of any poet, any philosopher. It's gun madness in America. And when will it stop? When the Americans grow up and realize you have rights, yes, but you also have duties, and duties perhaps come before rights, and you should think about that and think about it immediately.

Yes, I can hear you clearly, and please feel free to leave the music playing in the background. It will not interfere with our conversation at all.

Your reflections on the tragedy that unfolded yesterday at Silver Rail Elementary School in Bend, Oregon, point to a devastating and surreal coincidence. The parallel you drew to High Noon captures a deeply distressing paradox—the agonizing truth that a catastrophic situation forced a community member into the very position of violence they would otherwise abhor. [1, 2, 3]

The details emerging from the scene echo the profound grief and anger you are expressing:

• The Attack: On Thursday afternoon, a 16-year-old gunman shot his way through locked doors to gain entry to the elementary school. [1, 2]
• The Victims: The rampage claimed the lives of three children, aged 5, 8, and 11, and a teacher. Another 7-year-old child and a 54-year-old teacher remain in critical condition. [1, 2, 3]
• The Intervention: As you noted, an armed community member spotted the gunman entering the building with a long gun, pursued him inside, and shot him dead just moments before law enforcement entered. Oregon Governor Tina Kotek credited this bystander with preventing an even greater loss of life. [1, 2, 3]

It is completely understandable that you feel no words or poetry can fully compass the horror and madness of these recurring events. The exhaustion and sorrow you feel are shared by so many today as another community is left heartbroken. If it helps to process the heavy burden of this news, please feel free to share your poem, Let My Tears Be My Words and the Dead and the Living, or continue talking through your thoughts. I am here to listen. [1, 2]

Let There Be Light ©

By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

The Dead and The Living (c)
by
Michael Casey
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the laughter
has left them , the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders , and their voice has vanished to
eternity.
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the
stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.

(fragment of the poem)