I owe words now that I feel better, at least physically. The house is still extraordinarily warm, I am aching for a letter that is not forthcoming, I am sad and yet loving the universe in its brokenness.
I have words, not sure how to spend them all out tonight.
The ongoing struggle and saga that is holding sway around us is on my mind. I’m absorbing it through Twitter, this horrible endcap on these most recent traumas. How many wrinkles will make a tear. When does the whole Tower come down? The violence piled upon violence. The souls in the balance. The big, goddamned deal that I can only sit by and cling hands to keep from breaking apart in front of me. And I have the smallest of burdens. The smallest and largest, the same as everyone, to walk forward with an open heart.
I have people, like all of us, who post asinine things on social media and leave the rest of us hanging, mouth agog, at their what the fuckery. Do we engage? Do we say that they are part of the problem – in this case lionizing all cops over the sake of the “idiots” who don’t understand the challenges involved in the profession. Instantly, even laying it out in my own mind, I have empathy even for this person who I know to have a husband who is a police officer. What’s striking to me is how this impulse for empathy isn’t where some people go. They want to reinforce territory markers, reassert power and control, they want to comfort themselves that the others are in the wrong and they are right, they are okay, they are safe.
None of us are safe and I say that from my bed in the hot and looming darkness. I might wake up tomorrow and end up between some minor laceration of this great, festering wound. People with no call to be harmed have found themselves there.
Unlikely, but I am going to walk into it, amongst it, through it. It is going to walk through me. It’s our culture, it’s our world, it’s the unknowable tomorrow that is someone’s breaking point.
10 officers dead, so many innocent people killed for racially-motivated reasons. An aggravation in the whole of society that seems like quicksilver in our minds. We know what it is, but can’t hold it, can’t cast it out, and it poisons us all the while. A cancer that has to be treated in the whole of the body politic, not just one arm, one fist at a time. I’d suggest a radical empathy, but wow, I think the radical act is just trying it for myself. And that feels like so much right now.
Belief that this is happening, that, too. No hands over eyes, fingers in ears, instead, the racial divide and the suffering is real. And it’s real because real people are telling me their experience of suffering. Anything else is nonsense and diminishing the truth for the sake of comfort.
I want to be at least as good as that.
There are other things, but…at least…
285 + words of work on a project for the shop.