Noticing a turning away. An avoidance.
A painful tug and heaviness in the chest.
It’s been there for a while now.
“Is there something wrong?”
I pondered a little about work and family, and finally it dawned on me.
How typical of me to pretend everything is fine.
How habitual of me to avoid pain.
Breathing is not going to bring peace.
Feeling my sadness and anger will not hurt Putin more than it hurts me.
Yet it means something to feel this.
It’s important to not turn away.
It’s crucial I notice these habitual thoughts –
“I can’t make a difference.”
“What’s the point?”
Now it’s got my attention.
Have I been numbing this pain with media, food, and my routine?
To forget that as human beings we can care.
Just by acknowledging this pain.
Glimmers of hope for humanity can shine.
Prayer for those suffering can be said.
And I can stop falling into the numbness, the distancing…
This is the great starvation of spirit, this very idea that it’s not worth anything to care if there is nothing tangible one can do. That hope and prayers are worthless without action. Our starved spirit instead choose to cope by turning away, pretending to not see nor feel. We put on a veil to believe we are separate. The same veil that has allowed power-hungry leaders, corrupted officials, greedy businesses to carry out injustices, violence, and destruction in plain sight.
So while I may not pick up the gun to fight aggressors,
I join in the voices and prayers of those who care.
It might seem like all is out of my range of control.
And yes, in a way I can’t do much.
Somehow it still matters that I care.
It still matters that you care.
There is no guilt-tripping or judgment here.
Not a request for anyone to do more.
Just a request to feel into the part of us that feels this —
This collective pain, sadness, and grief.
To care might not look like it’s enough to change the world.
But yet it matters if there would be any change at all.
So feel the hurt, shed the tears.
Grieve… pray… It’s ok to care.