I am not a laborer of thought, but a reflection of heart, a silent soul speaking through a body of Hope and Grace.   {this is re-posted in remembrance of 9/11}   Violence is the voice of an ignorant heart. As a young teenager I tore that phrase out of a magazine and glued it on the spine of my poetry binder. It’s stuck with me since. One of my fondest memories is of me  at age 7 swinging at my family’s cabin in Glacier National Park. It was an older swing set, the forest green paint chipped and peeling, the chain squeaked a bit as it moved, but it didn’t matter for I could still pump myself high into the sky while leaning…