A New Year – what needs to be learned? What wants to be heard and be known?
Juxtapositions
Finally, fog and clouds have lifted. The last light of the day reveals the bay. The grey tones of clouds, ocean, island, hills, bridge, trees, and houses – a stillness, exquisitely equanimous – blending seamlessly the elements of water, air, earth, and wood into a muted world. A mirage.
Removed from the killing fields not far away.
They too must be known in order for new vision and paths to flourish.
A numbness grips us by the throat, we cannot speak about this much daily violence. So close by. We pretend it did not happen. What else is there to do? Our mouths and hearts are shut. Only the radio and media keep repeating endlessly the same sound bites, like an old record stuck in utter disturbance. Helpless. Numb. What have we dreamed of last night? The old bricks collected, to be used again some time. Or the spindly music stand, to be folded up for travel. The borders to be crossed, the journeys to be taken. Possibilities. We take it all for granted. But we are faced with saying good-bye. We’ve forgotten how to do that. What does one say at the end? Maybe silence is a gesture too. Devastating. But there are demands. Like the hand taking a mallet and striking the brass gong, elegantly, unavoidably. So as to awake all in the neighborhood, to announce the passing of yet another young man, or is it an old man, a woman, a child?
The sea elephant at the beach lies peacefully like a big old log swept up by the ocean’s surges. Sand strewn, neutral. Dead. I don’t begrudge the passing of life from his body. It all seems to fit perfectly into the order of nature. A couple of hundred feet away, another sea elephant up in the dunes. Her body motionless. Then, one eye opens, gleaming in the late afternoon sun, gazing at me, is there a smile? Or, am I imagining? I hear her sigh, and grumble: I am alive, just resting, dozing, sunning my tired bones. She gently flaps her tail. Alive. A second blink of open eye, peeking out at me from her world. Her fin flaps, throwing more sand onto her back. After our moments of hushed dialogue, I wander on… smiling…
Near the water, where the soft ebbing waves roll onto the compounded sand, three small sandpipers are congregating, murmuring to each other. One on two legs, running softly back and forth, staying close. The other two birds each on one leg, hopping with delicate elegance, lightly. The two-legged creature keeps company with her one-legged friends. The recent storms, violent ocean swells. They survived. Humbled I behold this tender trio of sand pipers. Responsible for each other. Humming silently, vibrating with wonder, I linger. My hands full of shells and a rock resembling a sea sponge. Evoking kindness.
Something we might not be used to – kindness.
But must practice.
The war at home, or abroad, the killing, it all seems un-natural. Senseless. We make sense by asking for justice. At least we try. Or for punishment. But it is too late. The heart has been stopped. Natural equality has been violated. We are alone. Fearfully trembling – or ragefully? Thrown out of paradise. We are involuntary bystanders. To be devoured by a grating disgust, gasping disbelief… grasping for explanations. Some people are worth protecting, others are not? The system is hunting and punishing the less “worthy.” To keep the old order in place? Only later, the waves of all-consuming grief will carry us into another landscape, even more desperate, desolate and lonely. Human cruelty seems to match nothing we can imagine. At times cruel impulses arise in our own hearts, minor ones might be acted out. Mercifully those brief moments of rage are prevented from accelerating, expanding. Lucky us, if we are never driven to kill, lynch, knife, shoot, kick, murder. Pure inevitable cold terror would grip us, if...
But just because we cannot imagine
just because we are lucky
we are not exempt from interrogation
What does it mean to be human?
Listening to the rains at night
I slide into dreams thick and turbulent
yet permeated with mysterious
clear tones of voiceless knowing.
Recommended reading:
Many here at home have to live in this war zone – America:
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/04/us/memphis-police-scorpion.html
and Jamelle Bouie: https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/04/opinion/police-abuse-race.html
For all of us envisaging a new world, orienting ourselves toward Equal Caring instead of War:
https://www.newyorker.com/news/dispatch/sending-help-instead-of-the-police-in-albuquerque
What a beautiful meditative piece. I read it through several times-each time taking me deeper. How easy to overlook, put aside the violence and go about one's lucky life but what you write-"interrrogate" -gives me a glimpse of what else is overlooked and lost when one does so. Thank you.
ReplyDeletei agree with Alex, a meandering meditative post i've read a few times. the images of the whale are poetic, mysterious, and haunting at times, both the close ups and from a distance. this entry reflects a lot of how this new year has felt...full of reflection, witnessing patterns of horrifying news that echo similar experiences over and over the last few years. i'm sitting with: what can we do differently? what will we do differently? and reflecting on what i/people have been doing in order to change things - the quiet, the big and the small, internal and external...feeling more softness this year but the movement and the work hasn't stopped & definitely won't stop. feels like fire & energy is still here, not as loud as it was, but perhaps more steady.
ReplyDeleteHow very visceral and profound your words are. I imagine the whale and his long journey. You speak of the horror of these present times and then remind us that we are surrounded by the grandest of natural beauty What does it mean to be human? Am I brave enough to interrogate?
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