The Mess of Healing

I want to yell, blame, shout at someone, anyone, no one. My hackles are up and I’m looking for answers. All the news on the TV, on the radio, in the papers, tell me about a timeline – 73 minutes at Robb Elementary. Who’s responsible, who’s culpable? I remember how Angela Davis says, in the context of a discussion on police violence, we have to stop assuming that one person is responsible for the violence they perpetuate. I still wonder, how did the police chief, someone who has spent 30 years in law enforcement, make a decision to wait for over an hour while children are bleeding and dying on top of each other? A woman interviewed on NPR offers a thought, “He dropped the ball because he did not have enough experience. Who knows?” She says.

I’m temporarily subdued with more articles to read. Surely some clarity will come soon. But the more I consume, the more I’m confused. I know I'm not alone. It’s a western conundrum – we have more than enough data yet we are increasingly divided by the information.

I'm afraid. Even the NRA is afraid. My female friends write in our chat group that they fear for our children, for civil war in the US. My male friends have transitioned back to texting about tech, moving, and parking tickets in San Francisco. I find refuge in the distance of our conversation.

Stay present, I remind myself. Stay focused.

Ted Cruz says we need more armor and more guns. An Uvalde gun owner says the shooter was evil and evil is going to find a way to harm people anyway. Two more sides of an ongoing debate, do we act or just give up? I wonder if it’s ever been that simple?

The 18 year old shooter, months before May 24th, was said to have threatened to kidnap, rape or kill on the social media platform, Yugo. Young girls who knew him said this kind of angry misogyny is “just how online is.” Is it? Greg Abbott, the Texas governor sponsored a case which went to the supreme court with the intention to hold social media platforms accountable for silencing Republicans. It was denied by the Supreme Court citing concern over our right to free speech. I think about how I want to silence all republicans. I read how the Center for Countering Digital Hate analyzed more than 8000 messages sent to 5 high profile women and found that Instagram failed to act on 90% of the abusive messages, even though they had been reported. I secretly wonder if the Supreme Court had decided to hear Abbott’s court case, would they have also held social media companies responsible for the daily threats that young women have both fought back against and also come to accept?

I must speak my truth.

My wife goes to work each day as a psychiatrist. She visits the homes of people who are too ill to make it into a doctor's office. She does this work because she cares about our community. I selfishly wonder if she should be going into their homes. We talk about going to a summer concert. Too many people, maybe we shouldn’t.

The New York Times reports that at 12:11pm, 38 minutes after the shooter entered the school, a police officer outside the school shouts through a megaphone, “When the kids get moved, we’re going to move them to the back of the funeral home. That’s where we want y’all waiting at.”

I learn that the funeral home is across the street from the school. I imagine myself hearing those words and wonder if my imagined child is being taken there for safety or a casket.

I search for more information. I find opposing sides of the gun debate using the same data to preach very different outcomes. A family member says, maybe gun owners will see the mess they made this time. Shortly after that, I read about Trump at the NRA convention, “Decent Americans should be allowed firearms to defend against evil." I google mass shootings and find that Wikipedia counts 19 more mass shootings since the one at Robb Elementary 7 days ago.

U.S. Representative Dan Crenshaw says, “I know that if I destroyed all my guns, it would have no effect on crime.” A disguised half-truth. The first half: if he were the only one to get rid of his guns it probably wouldn’t have an effect on crime. The second half: apathy. My wife helps me fight back, “Every effort matters,” she says. “Even though people try to tell me it doesn’t.”

I’m tired of looking at timelines. I begin searching for something different. Something that's able to hold more complexity than dates, times, facts. I find a post by Adrienne Maree Brown on Instagram. She quotes Maria Sabina, a Mexican healer and poet who passed on in 1985 at the age of 91. Sabina writes, “Heal yourself with the light of the sun and rays of the moon…with the sound of the river and the waterfall.” I find some comfort in her words even if it feels as though it doesn’t answer my question in the way I want.

I find a post by maceo Paisley and begin to cry. I watch it over and over again. He speaks as he moves,

“It can’t always be cloudy. And so when it is cloudy we have to remember that the sun is coming. And it can’t always be sunny. So when the sun is out, if that’s our preference, then we should appreciate it. Each moment, we have the ability to make it a gift or a curse. But the beauty of our experience is our mortality and if we surrender that, then what the hell are we even doing here? And I understand that the forces surrounding us are insurmountable and the progression of our timeline is happening. But if we just hold on to a little bit of hope, even a little bit of pain, that reminds us we have the capacity to to learn, shift, to grow, and wait. All the numbers, the economics, the disease, it falls into a category called life. And life is temporary. So if we practice these things, taking a breath, looking up at the clouds, treating each other well, exploring our imagination, then maybe we don’t stop the impending apocalypse but maybe we at least just learn to recognize when we are tired. And to grieve. And when to lay down and take a fucking nap.”

About a year ago, I sat on a webinar with Margaret Wheatley. I left half way through because all she spoke about was the end of the world. It was more than depressing, it was frightening. I think once again about Wheatley's plea for palliative care as we come closer to the possibility of the world's sixth great extinction. Maceo says death is a part of life, so why should we shy away from it? And if death is in front of us, why not take a nap, rest, enjoy the sun, and breathe life in? I start to find something hopeful in his deeply painful post. I wonder if I've been wrong to dismiss Margaret Wheatley so quickly.

In between the bullets, minute by minute timelines, apocalyptic ideas of civil war, lives our messy and complex story. I have wanted to believe I can control the outcome, but really, I’m just writing history. And history is my instruction manual for an unknown future.

I think something has finally shifted -- it's waking me up. Whatever it is, it's messy, chaotic, and unknown. I want someone to write that story -- that messy story -- so I can read it. I know it will reflect how I feel. I imagine it will speak to the truth of what I'm experiencing right now. Maybe it will confirm that I have no freaking clue how to get out of this situation -- that no one does. But by the end of the story, I imagine that slowly, together, in confusion, in curiosity, in play, and in imagination I will have shared tears, experiences, and breath with the author of this story. And the two of us might just heal a little along the way.

I grab a book from my bookshelf. It's a book by Syl and Aph Ko. I open it up to page where Syl proposes that we begin to heal by exploring the definitions of words. She doesn’t ask her reader to own or control the knowledge of timelines or factual details, she asks her readers to wonder about the meaning behind the words. She calls upon the word humanity as a good place to start wondering together.

I find the word Ubuntu, a Nguni Bantu term. It has been translated as “humanity” and “humanness” and, “I am because we are.” Or, this last one, and my favorite, “I am becoming because of others.” It is in this moment that I attempt to redefine humanity. I decide that humanity is an ongoing state of becoming together.

What if what we are becoming is what’s at stake? It's more than likely that humans are a walking, on-going engagement, with the social systems that are killing us. But, I think, if we become together through our shared stories of loss, then we can also explore the messy, particular, and dynamic connections that bring us together.

I need a moment.

I know I'm not finished with this work or the exploration of who, why, how, and when, but I'm definitely ready for the next move. Maybe I'm ready for a rest, a glance at the clouds, a glass of wine with my wife. Sun. Rest. Breathe. Connect. Amanda Gorman writes, “nowadays living is a dying art.” I take in a deep breath and let it all out. It certainly feels that way. But I also feel a fire in me. I know that life wants to move towards life, and I am most decidedly alive.