Holding What’s Heavy Together
This week’s hard news included the death of poet Wendell Berry, floods in Nepal and the Grand Canyon, the murder of two gay men outside a bar in Tucson, and recent Canada-US tensions.
Life feels heavy right now for many of us, personally and communally. We can understand how trauma and fear shape how people treat each other. Understanding the background doesn’t lighten our grief.
Two gay men, 42 and 33 were murdered this week in what is now confirmed as a hate crime. “Tucson has long been known for its welcoming environment and strong queer community. To now add another hate crime to that history is heartbreaking and infuriating.” The group organizing a candle light vigil urged people to “remind ourselves that we need one another, and to remind the larger community that we are united in our right to exist.”
Our right to exist.
As someone who believes in social justice, and in particular as a member of the queer community, I feel threatened. I have had a work colleague look me in the eye and tell me I am going to hell. In my younger days I might have been in a nightclub like Pulse or leaving a gay bar. This is personal and communal. The personal IS political.
We can draw a direct line from politicians attacking trans people to ongoing systemic violence against us. I feel disheartened at times at the hatred. Why do people care how we love one another?
Yet reality is what it is. I refuse to give in to despair. I know the basic goodness of most people. We all know this and it helps at times like this to bring this forward and remember in our mind and our body.
The Peace of Wild Things, Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Nature can hold us when the world feels overwhelming. One line stood out to me: "I feel above me the day-blind stars, waiting with their light." Stars are there even when we can't see them, the same way light and support exist even when they're hard to notice.
This was the sunset from my home last night as I sat with the heaviness of the world. The sweet peas, scarlet runner beans and Swiss chard are flourishing. Bees, hummingbirds and the occasional butterfly come here to dine. A potter friend made the bowl that offers birds a drink. This beauty is also true.
From another Wendell Berry poem “The Wild Geese”
What we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.
We can be careful of what we allow into our minds and hearts while still “in eye clear”.
What brings you beauty and joy? What lightens your heart?
What light do you bring into the world?
Kindness isn't always automatic. Sometimes it's a practice, especially when we're activated or in a survival response. Don’t cancel out your own goodness by expecting yourself to be perfectly kind or perfectly light all the time. Small thoughts and acts of kindness are part of how we help each other hold heavy things.
“What we need is here.” Wendell Berry