We are Strong Enough to Hold All the Suffering and the Love
It’s an interesting time right now, both in my personal life, my communities, the country I live in, and on Earth itself. There seems to be an awful lot of finality, closure, and deep grief giving way to new beginnings, uncharted frontiers, and spaciousness in spite of pain.
In many ways, “dark” dynamics influenced by greed and hate appear to be gaining the edge over compassion and “light,” and yet, at the exact moment when despair seemed inevitable, I have experienced a rebirth of hope and am witnessing it rippling out to others. I’m not a Vedic astrology expert (or even an amateur) but I know people who are that could share compelling reasons behind these observations and the revival of light in dark times. Regardless of the celestial mechanics, I’m grateful that I can witness the parallels and draw intuitive conclusions.
I’ve been collecting data, connecting the dots, and identifying how I can offer compassion in these difficult times to myself, to my loved ones, and to the collective. It is not easy. There is an urge to withdraw, to clam up, to give in to the scarcity mindset that says “There is too much going on for me already. I’m in pain and I just don’t have the space to give to others, to listen to their hurts.” But this is the voice of fear — I know, because when I align with that voice I experience the subtle sensation of constriction and the isolating heaviness of shame. The fear will convince me “If I cannot show up perfectly, then I should not show up at all. No one understands my suffering. I am alone in my pain.”
When I am afraid, it is hard to hear love. But when I feel safe enough to listen, love says “Yes there is pain here, for me, and for you. And, we are in it together. There is space for all of our pain just as there is space for all of our love. Let’s hold it together.” When I align with this voice, I let myself lean on others and I let them lean on me without expecting perfection on either side. I feel calmer. The specific burdens I bear do not disappear, but they do become much lighter.
With a lot of support, I have finally accepted the reality of my own pain, instead of pretending that it isn't there or that what happened "wasn't that bad," and as a result, I feel I have acquired access to limitless reserves of compassion for others too. This reminds me of the bigger collective picture, and that we must accept the reality that harm happened before we can have any hope of healing wounds, rectifying injustices, or offering compassionate action and service.
These wisdom truths have been written before by teachers like Thich Nhat Hanh, Pema Chödrön, Lama Rod Owens, and of course the Buddha himself. They are nothing new, but this is the first time that they have arisen in me directly from my own experience and in my own words. It is darkness that gives meaning to light. It is suffering that forms the shape and texture of love. And when I can hold them both, I feel really, truly here. Present. Awake. Alive, and experiencing what it means to be alive.
I rejoice in this precious gift of life — and I am reminded that while suffering is unavoidable and indivisible from existence, there is also systemic, manufactured suffering afflicting billions of human beings and the Earth herself that is avoidable. We are strong enough to hold the dichotomy of simultaneous suffering and love in our hearts, and we must.
We must.
This is my favorite spot to watch the sunset when I visit my grandmother in Crystal River, Florida. I have sat here in the shallow water and watched the sun dip below the horizon’s edge many a time throughout my late teenage and adult years. Each time I return, I reflect on my last visit and consider how my perspective on life has changed. The reflections in this blog were the result of my most recent “sunset sit.”
On this particular evening, July 11th 2024, the water was bathwater-warm. A steady, gentle breeze jostled the grass stalks and caressed my bare skin. Children could be heard laughing and squealing as they chased each other on the shore some thirty yards away.
I absorbed the diverse sensations of being immersed in the natural world as I contemplated both immediate beauty and distant sorrows. I grieved for the many creatures, species, and natural places just like this one, that had been lost to hyper-consumerism, deforestation, and climate change. I sat with gratitude for my health, safety, and contentment with my own company along with grief for the periods when I have been desperately lonely, quietly suffering, and afraid of getting close to others. I celebrated the existence and well being of those dear to me and mourned the passing over of a significant number of bright spirits adjacent to me. I sat with my renewed faith in humanity, our resilience and our capacity for compassion and collaboration, along with my despair for the billions of people suffering unimaginable conditions in Gaza, Sudan, Congo, Myanmar/Burma, Kashmir, Haiti, American prisons, and many more.
I let myself feel it all and I accepted reality as it truly was rather than warping it into an illusion of toxic positivity or a realm ruled only by evil and victimization.
I believe that a willingness to be vulnerable in mundane moments like this enriches them immeasurably, and nourishes us so that we may continue on the path of fighting the systemic violence of the modern world with two of our greatest weapons — hope and compassion — intact.
