I promised a post about our Creative Journaling workshop for incarcerated teens. I told you that I’d reveal the details of my Connecticut project. I won’t let you down. But these thoughts feel more important to me today, so please indulge me a little longer.
We rush toward the detention unit at the far end of Juvenile Hall, stopping briefly at the last of several security points. A partially deflated basketball is trapped in a tangle of barbed wire atop the 12-foot-high fence. Wispy clouds float across the twilight moon, casting long shadows over the walkway and my shoes. "So dreary," I think to myself, but then the door clicks open.
A teenager peers out at us through the small, mesh-covered window of her cell. She waves (just barely) and smiles (just slightly). When I smile back, her eyes light up. I want to linger, but we’re already running late. When we turn toward the stairs to the classroom, her smile fades, as does the glimmer in her eyes. And when I glance over my shoulder, her tiny body is pressed against the heavy steel door.
Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya.
I’m idling at a stoplight on my way home from the workshop, reflecting on all that I’ve experienced in the past couple of hours. The light turns green but, before I hit the gas, an old man steps off the curb and into the street. He stumbles in the darkness, rights himself with his cane, and shuffles around the orange Hummer that’s inching its way into the crosswalk.
I switch on the radio, more out of nervousness than any desire to hear the news. I snap it off again, gut wrenched by the tragically familiar story of yet another fallen soldier. I send out prayers for peace, but as I roll away from the intersection, I’m still thinking about that soldier, still fretting about the old man’s safety.
Someone’s praying, Lord, kumbaya.
Home at last, I grab the remote. Maybe a mindless TV program will help mute the sadness? The screen flickers to life, and I stare with wide-eyed horror at the breaking news about Haiti. The entire city of Port-au-Prince was reduced to rubble by an earthquake! Survivors scramble over debris and dead bodies, in an increasingly desperate search for loved ones. Wailing infants cling to mothers who stare at them with hollow, expressionless eyes, blank faces completely drained of hope.
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.
From my vantage point, I see a very small sliver of all the grief and suffering in the world. And still, I struggle with its magnitude and meaning. In a brief flash of selfishness, I think, "There but for the grace of God, go I." And then I hang my head in shame. For in that moment, I am once again reminded that we are neither separate from–nor are we superior to–anyone.
I don’t understand how it is that tragedy strikes certain individuals, much less an entire city and its peoples. Nor do I know why some people create for themselves a life of pain and misery. Unlike the Pat Robertsons of the world, I choose to leave those questions to Someone who sees things more clearly than I. And yet, in bearing witness to this suffering, I believe we are called to a state of compassionate awareness. Of Oneness. And that perhaps it is from this vantage point that we are best able to “love one another as we are loved.”
Consider the homeless man on the street corner. One grimy hand clutches a cardboard sign; the other is an open palm, extended in silent supplication. Are you your brother’s keeper? Think about the untold numbers of Haitian women trapped inside collapsed buildings, bloodied hands stretched toward rescue workers who haven’t yet arrived. Do you hear the feeble cries of your sisters? Tibetan Buddhist philosophy suggests that they may be buddhas in disguise, manifesting themselves on our paths in order to help us grow in compassion and move toward enlightenment. Those inclined toward Judeo-Christian principles might consider them “angels unawares.” Religion (and other tribal affiliations) aside, I believe they’re calling on our own better angels.
I’m wondering how to answer, how I can be of service. "Guide me into grace and bless me into usefulness." This is my prayerful meditation.
Very well put.
Thanks for reading. It’s so hard to make sense of this, much less put my thoughts & feelings into words.
Thank you for this, Melodye. I’m overwhelmed but our connectedness somehow calms me.
Yes, of course. And I took comfort in what you wrote, too. Our connectedness is a balm for wounded souls….
Thank you for this thoughtful reminder.
Thank you for stopping to read this, Susan. Such painful circumstances…I bled the words onto the page.
Thank you for sharing this, Melodye.
…bless me into usefulness
Amen.
I believe that’s a Buddhist prayer. It’s lovely, isn’t it? And so appropos.
Thank you for sharing this, Melodye.
…bless me into usefulness
Amen.
isn’t it a shame that it takes a tragedy upon thousands to make us notice the tragedy of one?
I don’t know that we always make the connection. Sometimes even the “tragedy of one” is too terrible to contemplate.
I don’t know that we always make the connection. Sometimes even the “tragedy of one” is too terrible to contemplate.
isn’t it a shame that it takes a tragedy upon thousands to make us notice the tragedy of one?
Wrenching, challenging, and beautiful. You have such a powerful way of communicating, Melodye… and of making people think. Thank you for this, though I know you don’t mean it to be about you, and it really isn’t. I’ve stayed silent so far about Haiti because I don’t know what to say, and I’ve feared to say worse than nothing. But reading your post I can say, “This. Yes.”
I’m so very grateful–and humbled–to know that my words reached through the computer screen and touched your heart.
(In all honesty, I was watching and wishing for a post from you. I still remember your well-considered, beautifully written entries about Job and Lamentations, and this topic seems interconnected with those thoughts.)
I’m so very grateful–and humbled–to know that my words reached through the computer screen and touched your heart.
(In all honesty, I was watching and wishing for a post from you. I still remember your well-considered, beautifully written entries about Job and Lamentations, and this topic seems interconnected with those thoughts.)
You hit the nail on the head, Melodye. This morning as I was workin’ it on the elliptical at the gym, images from Haiti were all over the tvs. I had to mentally embrace each tear-stained, terrorized face I saw. I felt for a brief moment like I was right there, being called to comfort and give support. Maybe we cannot travel thousands of miles to help physically – but, yes, there are those around us who can benefit from our heightened awareness of their place in our world. And, always, we can pray – knowing that whatever the picture presented, in Truth, we are all in our Father/Mother’s hands. I was recently reminded of a Bible verse… “Is the arm of the Lord shortened?” Of course not! We are just to wrapped up in our physical senses that we do not see how loved the entire world is. It is our duty and honor to express that love to everyone we meet in the best way we can. Thanks for this post!
Oh, Julia, I can’t think of a more lovely way to honor these victims than to acknowledge them as individuals, embracing and praying for each of them as they flash across the screen.
“Is the arm of the Lord shortened…” I hadn’t thought about that Scripture for a while! Thanks for reminding me of the question and its answer.
Oh, Julia, I can’t think of a more lovely way to honor these victims than to acknowledge them as individuals, embracing and praying for each of them as they flash across the screen.
“Is the arm of the Lord shortened…” I hadn’t thought about that Scripture for a while! Thanks for reminding me of the question and its answer.
What a heartfelt prayer, Melodye. Your love and compassion is an important service to the world. Thanks for this post. Namaste and a hug.
Namaste to you, my friend. We’re in this together.
And suddenly I feel like we should be linking arms and lifting our voices in song. “We are the world…”
There comes a time
When we head a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
And it’s time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all…
Namaste to you, my friend. We’re in this together.
And suddenly I feel like we should be linking arms and lifting our voices in song. “We are the world…”
There comes a time
When we head a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
And it’s time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all…
I’m currently reading The Case for God by Karen Armstrong. I came across this passage that I thought was particularly relevant to your question, are we not one?
In talking of Rabbinic Judaism she says
God had created only one man at the beginning of time to teach us that the destruction of a single life was equivalent to annihilating the entire world; conversely, to save a life redeemed the whole of humanity.
I would say the answer to your question is, yes. However, we seemed to have forgotten it.
Wondering…have we truly forgotten, or have we chosen to supress it?
I confess that I haven’t yet read Armstrong’s book in its entirety, and I’d love to see that quote in a fuller context. Does she reconcile her own beliefs with stories from the Old Testament? Thinking here about destruction, plagues and tribulations…
In this case, the context is in the development of ideas within Judaism and the development of a “compassionate ethos as the Eastern religions”. She says that “any interpretation of the scripture that bred hatred or disdain for others was illegitimate, while a good piece of exegesis sowed affection and dispelled discord.”
I’ve seen nothing yet that goes with the stories of destruction, etc.
It’s a fascinating read so far.
‘helping us grow in compassion’ — yes, that’s definitely how I tend to see it. And grow in understanding of life and its cycle of sorrow and joy, wonder and pain. I think if I didn’t firmly believe that those who sow tears will reap joy, it would undo me.
You write so beautifully and so powerfully, Melodye. You stir such emotion and such thought with your words.
I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the devastation of Haiti… and I can’t do it. All I can seem to do is focus all of my anger on the Rush Limbaugh’s, the Pat Robertson’s and all of those right-wingers that take the attitude of “so what, it’s just a bunch of black people.” I’ve heard and read these sentiments expressed by right-wingers over and over again and it just stokes my fury even more. Instead of listening to our better angels, some are instead appealing to our worst demons. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m confused and I don’t know what to do with this all.
Thank you for your beautiful and powerful words, my treasured friend. You give me hope that the world can be a better place.
amazing timing!
thanks for visiting my Creative Art Journal blog – amazing and miraculous timing! You are a voice from Spirit because just as you were writing your comment, I was pulling a Rune, asking for guidance about where I am to go next. I have been thinking of asking the local prison if I can run a creative journaling group for women there – turns out we are very close to a major Federal penitentary at our new home in Denver, and I just have had this idea on my heart . . . .
the Rune said it was time for something major and new. Then, your comment, and I just read this blog entry.
so – Thank you for your note. Thank you for your work. Thank you for stopping in at my blog, and I will post results of how this vision progresses for me.
-Em
http://www.creativeartjournal.blogspot.com