Fellow traveler from trip 1 JD - gettin’ his drum on in the Bora maloka
All of us are individuals, and most of us cling to this separate identity. I’m even among the class of folks who try desperately to be original – which is truly impossible, and only a matter of perception, but crucial all the same. Living in a big city, this march of the individual is even more prominent – we don’t befriend each other, as a rule. We go home to our apartment buildings, lock the door, and make friends with the TV. And the internet. Our lives are out lives, and we deal with the isolated ups/downs and that’s that. Who’s got time and energy to feel the pain of the world?
I think this is poppycock – an illusion our conscious minds sometimes trick us into believing. That we’re only affected emotionally and physically by the events in our lives and, if we’ve got super-close loved ones, theirs as well. It’s a lie. We’re all a part of the same cosmic energy – every living being. The notion that we can block out the pain of the Middle East and live our lives without that burden is false. We experience empathy every day, every moment, whether we acknowledge it or not. This is why when we launch a war against someone – anyone – else, everyone suffers. Every last living ball of energy.
I was struck by this as I rose this morning and, in preparing to throw on my workout clothes, started feeling an incredible ache. I couldn’t identify it – where were these tears sourced from? And then I remembered the 9/11 wife I saw on TV the other day – a woman still horribly depressed and in denial about the husband she lost in the towers – and I started to cry. Quietly, with more than a little confusion, I had a mini-release. And I’m still misty. I didn’t know this woman, or anyone who perished, for that matter, but we’ve still got so much pain in our culture as a result of that event. It is my belief that the war we’re fighting now wouldn’t be happening without that day. I know it’s not technically related, but that attack turned us into an Us Vs. Them culture, and we’re angry. For good reason. But the eye for an eye thing . . .I wish the world could see it makes us all blind.
I don’t think it’s any coincidence that more and more of us, every day, are going on depression meds, are finding ourselves inexplicably lost. We look for the circumstances in our lives that would explain it, and if we don’t see any, we either make things up or we get angry with ourselves, continuing the spiral. Maybe if we took some of the remaining energy and built a house for a homeless person, made a sandwich for someone starving – anything to give a positive boost – perhaps we could heal too.
I know this sounds idealistic and simplistic, but what we’re doing now isn’t working. Sticking to our own proximities, not letting the world in. I’m just as guilty. I can’t watch the news. I can’t talk much about the war. I don’t want to hear about Darfur and Rwanda and the global warming documentary – it all hurts so much. But I know that just because I won’t let me eyes see doesn’t mean my heart is blind. I cried today for 9/11. I might cry tomorrow for Iraq. It would be nice to know that we were on a path that would eradicate these tears, but that’s just not happening yet. Yet. When enough of us acknowledge this oneness, we’ll have enough of the pain, and rise up. I’m ready.
