Tangled Up in (Nov. 5) Blues
Or why it's high time to be goofy. A brief, yet urgent departure, from this column's typical fare.
I feel tension in the air. I feel fear and despair for all of the creatures and humans, mighty trees and kelp forests, tinsy tree frogs and bumbling bees. I feel grief for the air we breathe, the water that brings us life, and the great vast vistas of ancient geology and sacred histories that will, one by one, get ripped apart for oil we no longer need, except to fuel the portfolios of a mighty few who already own everything, except a sense of belonging to this Earth.
I feel anger and frustration knowing there are tens of millions of Americans who, though their narrow lens, aren’t at all concerned that they’re going to vote for the destruction of such wonders, with little thought but of maintaining the status-quo of their precious baubles and prized misconceptions.
I’m wondering if is okay to have these negative emotions. Ultimately, anger, angst, and sorrow are natural parts of our psyche. But perhaps where they go awry lies in what we do with them once they arise. Handling that is where our responsibility lies.
Do we hang onto them? Embed them in our identity? Amplify them in others? Or simply acknowledge them as they surface, so they may gently pass like a wave on a vast sea.
Many of those who are voting against nature — with the delusion that we are separate from it, so we have the right to use it up, control it, or otherwise box it out of our lives like some distant inconvenience — seem to harbor more than the typical burden of anger. And I kind of get it. It’s easy to hate. Easier still to be fearful, then compensate for that fear with anger, because anger makes us feel powerful.
Yet throwing angry thoughts into the world actually demonstrates fundamental weakness. A bravado, crafted only to fool ourselves. Like a dog barking blindly into the darkness, to scare off an imaginary predator.
When we wear so much anger, our faces change, becoming stern and misshapen. And boring. Inside, anger blocks out our imagination and creativity by causing us to take ourselves preposterously seriously. Anger encourages us to see ourselves as the center of the universe; so anger is isolation. Yet many angry people combined gives an illusion of companionship; because it makes us feel like we belong and like we are in charge (as if absolute power ever brought happiness).
Anger is addictive; but like other forms of craving, it’s ultimately devoid of pleasure.
I am not without anger. But when it bubbles up, I have been trying to acknowledge it, so it can then fall away, lest it consume precious moments of my life. As I grow older, I realize every moment deserves to be a precious one. And holy shit, it feels so much better to smile.
It feels better to be kind and share, even through the tiniest of gestures, than it does to loathe. Loathing is easy. Telling a joke that makes someone belly laugh is actually rather difficult. But ooh how much more worthy of an accomplishment!
To this extent, these days I have mostly isolated myself from TV news, and even the comedy shows that used to give me solace through laughter. I do not want to give this madness the privilege of seeping farther into my soul. I do not need to know every gory detail of this crime scene to realize that it demonstrates just how unworthy of a species we are proving ourselves to be. By studying it, and lamenting it too deeply, that negativity becomes me. And then those infuriating, infuriated, unimaginative, irritating, ill-meaning, immodest idiots have won. (Ha! Yes, hate is easy, but it is rather fun to vent it out with an alliteration.)
While I’ve been talking about distancing ourselves from negative spaces, I want to be clear that doesn’t mean it’s okay to stick our heads in the sand. This, of all moments in our lifetimes, might hold the most urgency we have ever known, and we very much need to rise to the occasion; to bring our diverse voices together in a chorus to defend everyone and everything that can’t speak (human English) for itself.
And while we do that, let’s make a point of finding the time and energy to laugh, often. To dance with the dawn. To answer the caw of a crow. To feel the sensation of walking barefoot on the bare earth, and to notice how the wisps of winter freeze the hairs inside of our noses.
Now, it’s more important than ever to remember what good we are capable of, too, and in the face of calamity strive to become the most beautiful versions of ourselves; to be fully alive as we careen forward through space and time, sharing our joyous, compassionate energy with the world.
So put up your prayer flags, kneel at your alter, giggle in your garden, roll out your yoga mat, get outside, hug a tree, philosophize with the clouds, read some poetry (and maybe slip a few Dylan and Beatles songs in there for good measure), comfort others, find leniency, explore curiosly, write it down, tear down fences, revolutionize, preach peace, learn an artform, experiment with being silly, listen, sit quietly with a cup of tea, and climb your favorite mountain to shout it from the summit (unless there are nesting birds nearby, then maybe howl it from someplace less obnoxious):
“All we need is love!” And probably a few other things, too. But you get the idea.
This is it, folks. This is life, and all that we have is in this very moment. May you find the strength to be fully present in it, and the beauty of walking with light, my friends — and remember, love and laughter are contagious, too. So if we humans are going to keep insisting on acting like a virus on this planet, let’s make those our legacies.
Good essay! But I do find more than a hint of pessimism in it.
love, D