Don't Turn Away
DON’T TURN AWAY
Don’t abandon
the way it makes you feel,
the way it breaks your heart
to know
that though the stars
are out tonight
missiles also dot the sky,
bombs rain down and punch the earth,
exploding lives,
killing innocence,
fracturing faith.
All for land
that can’t be owned,
for debts
that can’t be paid,
for pain
that won’t be named,
for power
that will never be enough
to satiate the fallow sense
of emptiness inside.
Stay very close
to this kind of pain,
it’s supposed to be unbearable,
overwhelming, horrifying.
It’s supposed to stop you in your tracks.
It’s supposed to make you feel
sick to your soul.
To give in
to this kind of rupture
is to finally
give yourself,
honestly over,
to how we are lost,
estranged from the earth,
orphaned from ourselves
and hostile towards the way
that we belong to each other.
Tonight
give up
your want
for all the comfortable,
familiar things.
Put down your tea,
cork the wine,
turn off the movies,
put away the games,
don’t even try
to move or
meditate it away.
Instead
scream and cry,
shake your fists in the air,
let your heart fracture,
as a baby is born
in a bomb shelter
rocketed by the sounds
of overgrown hate
battering the landscape outside,
and her mother’s voice singing,
hoping that there
is still
something to hope for.
Envision each one
who is existing
beneath the fire-strewn sky,
each one who is fighting, fleeing
or falling down dead.
Put their pictures up
on your kitchen wall
and place them into your heart,
when you take down a cup,
when you turn on the faucet,
when you feed your family,
when you talk to your friend
on the phone
while your hands wash
the dirty dishes.
Take in their interrupted lives,
their disorientation,
their bloodied looks of betrayal,
the weight of what it is
they are being asked to do.
Feel the fear,
the disgust and despair.
Feel the fabric of humanity rip.
Let it bring you to your knees,
to the fullness of your senses,
even to the dark impulse
that wants to separate you
from the wellspring
of your love.
Then lay your head down
in the soft of your pillow,
give thanks
for that simple, soft pillow,
and hand all of it over
to your dream keeper.
Pray for her
to take it in
to make it whole,
to spin every last fiber
into a thread of wisdom
that will wake you up in the morning,
that will greet your reflection
in the mirror with love,
that will make your tea and pet the dog,
that will bring you to your meditation cushion
where you can invite the devastated into your heart,
the Israelis, the Palestinians,
the Ukrainians, the Russians,
and all of the others
the children, the mothers,
the fathers, the brothers,
the oppressors and the oppressed
here to the fullness your breast
may they feel the touch of your simple kindness
in the midst of this mess.
One stitch at a time,
we will,
mend the fabric.
One gesture of gentleness
when your child rebels,
one moment of listening
when you don’t agree,
one look of welcoming
to the man on the corner
as you offer a little something
so that he may eat today
and remember how he too,
is a treasure of life.
One word of easy praise to the barista,
one softening when the tensions
of ideas pull tight,
one breath of patience
that can become a moment of prayer
when you are running late
and the traffic stands still.
Each and every one of us,
and all of us together,
holding the complexities of truth,
the courage of our hearts,
the threads of our wisdom,
and each moment we are given,
we sew, we stich, we weave,
we patch, we darn, we mend,
we pray, we love, and we live
the fabric of humanity into
the great tapestry of life itself.
With your simple thread of life,
what kind of world
will you be weaving today?