I found this again in an old draft I never sent. I think it is so right for us now. It is right for us always. If you read it out loud, it will slow your heart, open your lungs, straighten your spine. Give thanks.
All we need is here.
“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.”
Wendell Barry
I just saw a video of a compact owl fluttering around in front of a video camera on someone’s front porch.
The thought occurred to me that the owl was watching us watching him and wondering how human beings could so totally mess up the environment for everyone. In this time of social degradation, the animals must be wondering why we’re watching them. Clearly they need to keep on eye on us who have been so heedless of their health and the health of our physical world.
They don’t accuse. They look back with the dead eyes of the starving polar bears, the decimated forests and flooded lands in which they formerly thrived.
What is it about humans who will not take responsibility for the whole?
What is it about our ravening species that must grab everything and use it till it’s gone?
Who put us in charge when we can’t even control ourselves?
This aging body
Unlike a rock
breaks down easily into small bits
that go awry.
I know, I know
Rock devolves to sand
but why must I, sentient being that I am,
devolve to mechanical failure
bit by bit.
I am a witness to my own degradment.
not cool sand to walk on
but springs spronging
cartilage wearing down,
colon failure.
A rock has no self awareness of it’s own future.
It doesn’t say “oh shit another shard broke off, another fissure.”
What is that called mind blindness., no sense of the self observing the self.
Must be nice.
But, life at any cost, right. Life in any way, shape or form.
Limping, wheezing, shitting into the future.
* Did you know that decrepit comes from the Latin root to rattle and creak
| “We live in a time of great hostility, and the temptation from which we must defend ourselves is to pull back from others, deny our shadow, and retreat into our own defended camps or isolated positions.” |
My friend and spiritual guide Sue, shared a remarkable piece by Richard Rohr. I am trying to suck in its’ meaning through my pores. “..changing sides to be where the pain is…”. I thought about the life we all hope and pray for and how, somehow, it comes up short. Pain manifests as rage and meanness, depression, isolation. You know all the downers.
So it goes something like this—you act like a violent, sneering asshole because you have some deeply embedded issues that are painful. Part of me (a large part) wants to yell,” stop being an asshole and shape up”. I fight with this thinking on some deeply cellular level. It seems to namby-pamby, too psychobabble.
I want to push back. Yet something in me knows the truth of these words. We act out in public what we feel inside. We manifest. We don’t mean to. Mostly we are not aware of what we are doing. We just put it out there. Impotence, hopelessness, sadness and fear. We act it out—all the world’s a stage.
And yet, why should I need to go to the camp of the racist, homophobic, screamers who have dominated our country’s airwaves for the last four years. I want to just hate them. It’s so much easier—they’re assholes, they’re losers, they’re stupid and on and on.
But look, I am just mirroring their hate, their dismissal. I am serving up a big portion of shit—superiority, disdain and rage. I think I have right on my side and rationality. So do they. How do I reach out for the hateful other? Will they reach back? Will I respond?
But if we don’t, we are armed camps and they have the guns and the ammunition.
This is the sore spot. This is that place between, where we need to be. Not in their camp, but not in ours either. Standing in the middle. Trying to listen. Richard Rohr seems to think that what we will hear in the middle is pain. I want to say to them—there are other ways to deal with your pain. Who am I to say that? I don’t want to be their therapist. I don’t want to be nor could I be a spiritual guide. And yet, and yet—what if there were a path?
What if all of us could begin calming down a little. What if we could turn off the red and blue spectrum. Could we see each other as people? As brothers and sisters.
Even as I write this there is a little voice (actually pretty big) that says “No” emphatically. I am not strong or wise enough to do this. I want to blame.
We are all so angry. We have no trust in the other. We have no hope.
But, however we feel the day after the election, we need to remember, the work is in the middle. The work is hard and dirty and fucked up, but it’s there, in reconciliation.
The other side don’t want to reconcile. They want it all. Oh really. Just like we do. But they are bad people. Oh really. Just like we can be. Could we have a conversation? Maybe. We have a lot in common. We all have two arms, two legs, two hands.
My deep and abiding hatred of Trump and his suck-ups notwithstanding, I will try for the middle. I will try to step out of my camp and hang out in the middle. Who will join me, I wonder?
I see these signs all over our little island that say we are all in this together. Are we really? Or are we just an enclave of very blessed people huddling in our homes decrying THEM. THEM the hungry hordes outside our doors and understanding.
I know some of those people. I’ve met them. I’ve had their kids in my school. Their kids grow up to be those people. THEM.
To THEM, we are THEM.
We sneer at the white working class as being less than. They are sick of being made fun of, sick of going without, sick of being politically correct, sick of substandard schools preparing them for substandard jobs. The coastal elites versus the rest.
Some are not so bright, and like the rest of us, weaselly, rude, belligerent, rageful, prideful, violent. We are, in both camps, imperfect. Human.
I am sick of it. Both camps hurt. Few of us have the lives we hoped for. None of us will get out of here alive.
If we are ever going to change the trajectory of our country THEM has to become US. And not in some noblesse oblige kind of thing, but real. We must go to their camp. Leave our citadels, our temples, our island. Go to their camps. Or at least explore the middle.
Rob: I feel like an old man.
Pause
Rob: I am an old man.
Laughter
Hello. Yes, this is Dog 