George Floyd

Solidarity – Day 1092

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Sign at Strike – Photo: L. Weikel

Solidarity

Every once in a while, Karl and I get a chance to put our beliefs into action and show our solidarity with fellow Americans who seek to make our country or our world better, or seek to be treated fairly and equitably in exchange for their hard work. Today was one of those days.

Because we have a connection to AFSCME (the American Federation of State, County, and Municipal Employees), we chose to spend some time today walking the picket line at the Kelloggs plant in Lancaster County. That’s because Council 13 AFSCME members are showing up to express their solidarity with their brothers and sisters who are members of the BCTGM local 374-G (Bakers, Confectioners, Tobacco Workers, and Grain Millers). BCTGM International is the union that represents over 1400 workers striking against the major cereal manufacturer nationwide to effect equal wages for equal work.

If you take the time to read about the two-tiered wage system Kelloggs implemented some time ago, you’ll have a better understanding of why these workers are striking. Taking the extraordinary measure of standing up to an employer in this manner is never an easy decision. But times and circumstances conspire to create situations that demand redress.

Photo: L. Weikel

Other Times

It seems we’re being given more and more reason to take to the streets. From the dire trajectory of climate change to recognizing the egregious lack of racial justice in our country, we try to show up and be counted, as opposed to sitting in front of the tv and feeling powerless. Not that we don’t do our share of sitting in front of the tv feeling frustrated and outraged.

But I guess watching the injustices pile up and regular people seemingly losing their ability to make a difference is why, every once in a while, we drag our bones outside and show up. Another reason may stem from the fact that we came of age in the ‘70s. I look back on those times and feel, I don’t know…uncomfortable. I remember watching protests on the nightly news back in the ‘60s. Too young to have much of an opinion about anything, I certainly didn’t fully comprehend what was going on. (I knew how my father felt about it, though – based on his reaction to what we watched on the news.)

Too Young To Make a Difference

I vividly remember feeling confused over why young people protesting against the Vietnam War were so reviled and disrespected, as if they were just too stupid or misinformed to realize the lives of their brothers and friends were necessary sacrifices. Necessary? A reasonable price to be paid?

At the same time, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why our country could not – would not – ratify the Equal Rights Amendment. (And seriously – how egregious is it that we still have yet to pass it?) As someone growing up in the ‘70s, I took it for granted that the rights won by women were pretty obviously righteous. Honestly, how could anyone think women weren’t equal to men or at least entitled to be paid the same for the same work?

Ignorance

Oh, how naïve I was.

Speaking of naïve, as a white person living in a mostly rural area, I had no idea what it meant to be ‘guilty of walking while black.’ I never even heard the term until I was in my late 30s, when a colleague described to me the way her black nephew would be stopped by police for just that: walking while black. At first, it sounded like hyperbole. It took no time at all for me to realize it was the horrible truth for all people of color in our country, but especially young black and brown men.

The systemic racism that resulted in the horror of George Floyd’s murder (and Ahmaud Arbery’s and the countless others we’ve witnessed over the past few years but barely remember their names, not to mention the thousands of others we’ve not even heard about) is something of which I was shamefully ignorant. And I say shamefully because these are my fellow Americans. People I truly believed were as equal and free as me. How could I grow up as a reasonably intelligent and well-informed person and not realize just how pervasive racism continues to be in our country?

Outrage

And then there’s the situation with women’s rights over our own bodies. As a girl growing up in the ‘70s, again, I took for granted that I had sovereignty over my own body. I took for granted that it was my business and no one else’s whether I could use birth control. Or choose whether or when I would become a mother.

Yet here we are.

There are so many reasons why I show up to stand in solidarity with others. I may not work at a factory or nursing home. I may never have to worry about my sons being shot as they take a run on a country road because they supposedly look suspicious (because of their race) or are assumed they ‘shouldn’t be there’ or don’t belong. But I can show up and declare my solidarity with them. I can show up to advocate for Mother Earth, and the rights of all women. I can protest the blatant efforts to disenfranchise whole swaths of people. If it matters to me – I must.

Sometimes all we can do is show up. And if we can do more?

Sometimes it feels like our world’s on fire – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-19)

Sun Salutations – Day 891

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Exuberant Tulip – Photo: L. Weikel

Sun Salutations

As mentioned yesterday, in yet another example of reaping rewards for simply paying attention to the details of life that surround me, beyond catching sight of the flourishing bleeding hearts, I also noticed my tulips performing sun salutations.

The flat-out, open-hearted nature of this tulip bowled me over when I saw it. I took the photo above at 12:34 p.m., when the sun was directly overhead. This particular specimen could not have been more unabashed in its eagerness to soak up every last drop of solar nectar. Moments after I took the photo, I’ll admit, I sat on the porch and just stared at it. I drank in the exquisite harmony and balance of the petals; the way the patterns repeat themselves over and over again. Almost mesmerizingly, I see a plethora of sixes. The brilliant yellow stamens are half a six, but the rest of the flower is a blatant celebration of sixes. Numerologically, sixes can represent exuberance.

I dare you to look at that tulip and not feel joy stirring in your heart. Joy simply at being able to witness such a precisely-wrought piece of art created from a bulb that wintered underground throughout this long, cold, snowy winter.

Long Gone

When I spied this exaltation to spring, and saw its petals stretched out far and wide, I honestly thought I was witnessing its greatest expression of its tulip-hood. The feeling I got (and still get) when I immerse myself in the beauty of the patterns contained within the face of this flower is that it spent it all. This flower didn’t hold back one iota of energy when it flung its six petals out in an ecstatic embrace of the sun.

I didn’t think it could recover itself in time to live, and rejoice in, another day. I thought she’d be long gone within a day.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I set off to take my walk last night and glanced in the direction of my exuberant tulip, only to find this:

Child’s Pose Following Sun Salutations – Photo: L. Weikel

Boundaries

Wow! She was closed up tighter than a drum! What a worthwhile example of both being in the moment and setting boundaries.

It’s weird, I know. Don’t I know tulips aren’t the type of flower that just bloom one day and then have their petals fall off the next? Of course I know that. But I’ve certainly not been as aware of the cellular sentience of these beings as I was in that moment. For whatever reason, it hit home. These tulips embrace their sustenance with zeal and close up shop at the end of the day to preserve all they’ve gathered.

There’s no debate; no waffling. Life is lived with gusto and boundaries are set to protect itself and the life force coursing through it.

And my day was made all the richer for it because I paid attention.

Finally

I ran across a tree tonight as I took a walk following the announcement of the verdict in the trial of Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd last year. I’ve walked past this tree a bazillion times before. But I’ve never seen it look quite so much like a Black goddess with arms upraised in victory and celebration as it did tonight.

Victory – Accountability – A Step Toward Justice – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-220)

Walking Through Mud – Day 789

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Muddy Upstream – Photo: L. Weikel

Walking Through Mud

So, how’s 2021 working out for all of us so far? Honestly, this first week of January has felt like the emotional equivalent of experiencing an entire year (of horror) in warp speed. And yet the past two days have felt, to me, like I was walking through mud.

I have to wonder if I’m the only one who’s experiencing this paradoxical sensation.

I’m feeling incredible outrage coursing through me as I contemplate the audacity of the people who stormed our halls of Congress. It would appear at first glance as though they’ve perpetrated this assault with impunity, although I’m aware there are many arrests yet to occur and crimes to be charged. As we witnessed the mob violence unfold on Wednesday, though, it was beyond upsetting to see the marauders almost stroll out of the Capitol with admonitions to honor the 6:00 p.m. curfew.

When we subject ourselves to the images of that fateful day (which are admittedly hard to avoid in the aftermath), how do we reconcile within our own psyches the hundreds upon hundreds of bodies streaming through those marbled halls, smashing windows and battering down doors with the reality that only 15 arrests were made that day? Yes, more have occurred since then. But the sheer incongruity of it all, especially after witnessing the predominantly peaceful protests following George Floyd’s murder this past summer and the oppressively militaristic response to them is overwhelming and depressing.

Bar the Doors

Ever since I woke up yesterday (Thursday), I’ve felt as though I were living in a different world. Accomplishing the tasks on my agenda the past two days has felt like it took Herculean effort. Again, my movements – heck, even my thoughts – felt like they were struggling to swim upstream, pushing against a thick current of despair and revulsion prompted by the chaos and malignant intentions unleashed on the symbols and representatives of our government.

It feels as though something needs to be done to protect us from the worst impulses of the current occupant of the White House – and they need to happen immediately. Even taking a ‘wait until Monday’ approach feels perilously risky. I feel as though we need to bar the doors and grab the oxygen masks – all while running through waist-high mud.

The End and the Beginning

It feels like it might be a good thing to revisit the advice we received from The Crone just four short days ago. We are indeed living through ‘the End’ of a cycle. Perhaps over the next several days, those of us who have no real power or influence over what gets done procedurally or even practically in dealing with the imminent threat DT and his followers pose to our democracy might want to take some time to sit quietly and envision what we want to create.

How can we improve our country? Get the money out of politics? That might be a great place to start. How could we best accomplish that? Just imagining trying to bring such a reality into being might feel like we’re still running through mud. But what a difference this could make.

That’s just one thought that occurs to me this evening as I try to shift my thoughts from despair to a new day.

But first we need to get through the weekend.

(T-322)

Job Well Done – Day 588

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Guarding Our Backs – Photo: L. Weikel

Job Well Done

OK, I’ll admit it; I don’t want to speak too soon. But that being said, I also don’t want to overlook the small steps we’re all taking, collectively, to not only survive the insanity of the present times but also incrementally make things better. And that’s why I’m inclined to give us all a “Job well done!”

This was a big weekend energetically. I’ve written about it, as have a bazillion other people more adept at reading signs and placements and aspects.

But the call to those paying attention was made: Strategically holding space. Holding the center. Maintaining calm and peace in the midst of discord, disharmony, and the deliberate instigation of chaos.

Volatility Index

If there were such a thing as a volatility index, my guess is that it would be hovering at the top of its scale since May 25thor so, when George Floyd was senselessly murdered by a policeman (and callously observed as he did so by three other officers) in Minneapolis. And the needle hasn’t moved much since then, as incident after incident keeps happening, reminding us every day that even when the spotlight is shining directly on our society, ugly stuff just keeps piling on.

As we were approaching this past weekend, we all knew DT had initially planned a ‘comeback rally’ supporting his re-election on Juneteenth in the city of Tulsa, where 99 years ago an absolutely heinous attack was made on Black people by Whites. Yes, amidst calls that this was utterly tone deaf and provocative, he postponed his rally by a day. Thus it was scheduled for this Saturday, June 20th, the arrival of summer and the beginning of an annular solar eclipse.

A lot of signs point toward unrest, massive protests, and possible radicalism. And there’s nothing to say that the danger of seeing these things is past.

But by taking one day at a time, cooler heads have prevailed – so far. And that, in my opinion, borders on miraculous. Especially when taking into account the incendiary rhetoric being tossed about by the DT, the President of the United States.

Surprised?

While part of me was surprised by the outcome of Saturday’s rally in Tulsa, another definitely was not. I felt the sense of protection that was coming forth to keep the peace in Tulsa and around the United States and the rest of the world. There definitely was a calming presence, which may or may not have been a collective presence created by the intention of many loving beings on the planet.

Indeed, I was reminded of Beings, seen and unseen, watching over us – not unlike how we are taught to have each other’s backs when we approach a sacred fire. One of the first rules of etiquette at a sacred fire is that no one approaches a fire to do personal work without another member of the circle standing behind them, arms raised in protection. This ‘having a person’s back’ enables the person approaching the fire to freely interact with the element, have a conversation with it, and allow it to guide and heal them without fear that they will get blindsided or accosted from behind when they are most vulnerable.

That knowing that space will be held and a person’s back will be protected is essential to creating the trust and vulnerability necessary to effectuate true healing.

Larger Forces at Work

When I saw these huge clouds forming in the sky on Saturday afternoon, they reminded me of what it looks like when a person guards the back of another at a sacred fire. I hoped it meant that protection was being afforded on a higher level; that space was being held on a much larger scale than human, and that we were actually setting the intention by holding that space for our brothers and sisters ourselves.

The cavalry was hearing and responding to our call.

While situations can change in the blink of an eye, and the volatility index is not slated to decline much, if at all, this week, I take comfort in knowing that our efforts are being recognized and reinforced. Certainly it’s undeniable that a potential tinderbox was not ignited in Tulsa last night.

For that, I am grateful, and consider our efforts a job well done. Let’s not lose our focus now.

(T-523)

Grackle Medicine – Part 2 – Day 575

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Incoming! Share! – Photo: L. Weikel

Grackle Medicine – Part 2

Knowing a good thing when they’ve found it, several grackles continued to frequent our feeders today. While they did become a bit petulant and mouthy as the afternoon grew long and the peanut coil emptied, this only reinforced my commitment to sharing with you the message of Grackle Medicine – Part 2!

And so it was that, when I checked my trusted and dog-eared copy of Ted Andrews’s Animal Speak*, the entry for Grackle made my jaw drop. I will synopsize here:

Grackle –

Keynote: Overcoming Excess and Emotional Life Congestion – Cycle of Power: Early Spring

Although the grackle is often considered part of the blackbird family, along with crows and starlings, it actually is not. It is part of the meadowlark and oriole family of birds. It is a large black bird with an extra-long tail. About its head and shoulders are iridescent feathers that change from blue to green to purple or bronze, depending on the light.

This coloring often reflects a need for those to whom the grackle comes to look at what is going on in their life differently. It says that situations are not what they appear to be and you may not be looking at them correctly – particularly anything dealing with the emotions.

Keep in mind that black is the color of the inner and the feminine. The purple and bronze coloring about the head especially usually indicates that emotions are coloring our thinking process. The grackle can help us to correct this.

During courting season, the male grackle will fold its tail, creating a diamond-like trough. This diamond shape is often reflective of activation. It hints at a need to become active in regards to emotional situations. Have we been too passive in our emotions? Are we simply rehashing and talking about them without doing anything to correct the emotional situations of our life? The grackle is a noisy, chattering bird and may be a reminder to quit talking and do something.

(…)

Grackles have inside their mouths on the hard palate a keel which helps them cut open acorns and eat them. We have often heard the expression, “It’s a tough nut to crack.” Well, this reflects the role a grackle can serve as a totem. Dealing constructively with our emotions and those people and things in our life which aggravate them can be a tough nut to crack. The grackle can show us how to do this.

Grackles love to live in pine trees. Pine trees are very therapeutic to emotional states. In a form of homeopathic medicine known as flower essences, the essence of pine can be used to help alleviate strong emotional states, particularly feelings of guilt. Again this reflects the grackle showing up as a sign to help you clear the emotions.

Emotions that are not dealt with can congest our life, aggravating or even creating congestion in the body at some level. The grackle can serve as a warning to be careful of this possibility, but it can also help show us how to prevent it from occurring. The droppings of grackles can serve to culture fungi which, if the wind blows, can cause a pneumonia-like infection.**

Most illness is symbolic. Congestion, especially pneumonia-like in appearance, can tell us that we are holding in our emotions. It can reflect a suppressed crying or a refusal to deal with certain long-standing problems and issues. (Have we neglected situations, giving them time to be cultured?) It can reflect a refusal to take in new life and new approaches to life, and so we become congested with old emotions.

The grackle shows us how to handle this. It can teach the proper expression of emotions. They can show us where excesses are dissipating our life force and facilitating a congestion of growth and movement. They can teach how to get back to creative and beneficial experiences and expressions of emotion.”

Grackle sampling – Photo: L. Weikel

So Many Take-Aways

Hmm. Wow. A lot of the information contained in this entry set bells a-ringing and whistles a-blowing for me.

First of all, who can deny that emotional overload hasn’t been an increasingly powerful factor in our lives as Covid-19 took root in our country? Since none of us have faced anything like this pandemic in our lifetime, we don’t have a first-hand frame of reference with which to deal with it. So our emotions are all over the place. And when we don’t know what to do with them, they clog up our systems; we become congested with emotion.

Secondly, I had to laugh at the admonition: “The grackle is a noisy, chattering bird and may be a reminder to quit talking and do something.” Umm, yeah. Point taken. Indeed, I think we’re all realizing the importance of action over words. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. We either do it or we don’t.

Biggest Confluence of Meaning

But almost immediately, I see how much more Grackle’s message applies in a cultural sense, in light of the George Floyd/Black Lives Matter eruption over the past two weeks. Indeed, it was easy to draw parallels between our current social experience vis-à-vis guilt and facing hard emotional lessons (tough nuts to crack) in the first several paragraphs.

But I nearly fell over when both the trauma of the pandemic and the trauma of systemic racism in our nation dovetailed in the paragraphs on illness. It is as if Grackle was signaling me with flares and sirens that our current experiences are a perfect storm for transformation. We must process our emotions instead of deflecting and burying and denying them as we have, as a culture, for 400 years.

The pandemic is a symptom of the guilt and shame we carry, collectively, over the shameful act of exploiting others based on the color of their skin. And this infection is, in a sense, carried on the wind (which is why face masks protect us all), yet the brutality and inhumanity we are confronting now has been carried on the winds of time.

A Lot to Contemplate

I’ve read this information by Ted Andrews over and over since I finally succumbed to Grackle’s insistence that I pay attention. And I keep gleaning additional perspectives and tidbits of information that can help us all navigate this cultural storm.

Probably one of the most important concepts we can all apply to our experiences at this point is something one of my most beloved teachers, Puma Fredy Quispe Singona, suggested in a FB broadcast today: We must take care of ourselves as we deal with these great changes. And beyond that, we must remember that Mother Earth is here for us. She wants to support us; she loves us; she stands with us; and she is always there to ‘back us up.’

Grackle – Yum – Photo: L. Weikel

*affiliate link
**Clement, Roland C. The Living World of Audubon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, 1974) p. 254.

(T-536)

My Heart Hurts – Day 568

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Silence is Violence & My Heart Hurts – Photo: L. Weikel

My Heart Hurts

You know from my recent posts that the slow, deliberate, and unwarranted killing (murder) of George Floyd in Minneapolis one week ago today – on Memorial Day – has haunted me. And of course I know I am not alone. The depraved manner in which that police officer coldly and nonchalantly pressed his knee onto the back of Mr. Floyd’s neck until his life was snuffed out felt like a straw that broke our country’s back. My heart hurts.

I only heard about the protest scheduled for the center of Doylestown (Bucks County’s county seat) at 11:00 a.m. this morning, but Karl and I managed to get there by the appointed start time of 1:00 p.m. The crowd seemed to still be growing over an hour and a half after the protest began.

Taking a Knee – Photo: L. Weikel

Taking a Knee

I have to say, I had a hard time joining in on any of the chants. Every time I opened my mouth to raise my voice in protest, that voice failed me. It cracked quite pathetically as I was overcome with a depth of emotion that welled up within me. I felt overcome by the enormity of the injustice and cruelty that’s inflicted on our fellow Americans, just because their skin is darker than mine. How utterly absurd.

One of the most powerful moments, for me, was when the crowd of over (at least) 100 people collectively took a knee and simply held several minutes of sustained silence. It seemed as though even the traffic was muted. The silence was eerie and profound.

A Lovely Moment

I happened to look behind me at one point and was given the gift of witnessing a lovely moment of helping hands and kindness. I’ll let the photo speak for itself.

Loving Helping Hands – Photo: L. Weikel

Support and Solidarity

As traffic continued to flow through the center of town, the vast majority of cars and trucks honked their horns and waved their hands in support, eliciting applause and whoops of solidarity and hope from the protesters filling the square and lining the sidewalks along both sides of Main Street and Court Street. (By the time we left, I’m pretty sure there were at least 200-250 people in attendance.)

And then we engaged in the part of the protest that was, without question, the most profound for me.  Everyone who was able chose to lay prone on the cobblestones or concrete before them. We assumed the position that George Floyd was forced to endure and we maintained that position for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Many of my fellow protesters called out, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe” – Photo: L. Weikel

I Wept

Yet again, I found myself incapable of joining in with my voice. Instead, I will admit it: I wept. Hot tears flooded into the Covid-mask I wore, and I did indeed find my breath stifled and thick. But the sadness. The sadness just rocked my body as I allowed myself to even for one moment imagine the depth of Mr. Floyd’s fear and pain and disbelief that his life would end in that moment. For what? For nothing. While passersby yelled for his murderers to stop, the pressure continued. Unrelenting. Until it was over. And even then, the pressure continued. Just to make sure, I guess.

Why? Because he was black. Because he was at the mercy of those with the power. Because they could.

The wanton abuse of power in our nation must end. We must use our power to establish much needed and long awaited justice. Vote.

If you live in Pennsylvania, and you haven’t already done it by mail, exercise your power today (Tuesday, June 2, 2020) – and especially in November.

Vote! – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-543)

Distraction – Day 566

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Rainbow glare – Photo: L. Weikel

Distraction

All I have to offer this evening are some photos I took on our walk early tonight. I realize they are but a distraction – but that’s all I can muster.

I tried watching something on Netflix tonight that would take my mind off the searing pain and rage our nation is experiencing. An animated series – Avatar: the Last Airbender. It’s such a great show, promoting and teaching timeless truths about relationships, power, and responsibility, among other things. If you can gloss over a little bit of the hokey banter, especially in the first few episodes, I promise you will find this series leaves you feeling brighter and remembering what’s important in life.

Karl and I are midway through the second season of the aforementioned animated Avatar. (I emphasize animated to distinguish from the live action film of the same name, which I’ve been told doesn’t hold a candle to the series). There are a total of three seasons to the series.

But alas, I returned to watching the reporting on the protests taking place across our nation after Karl went to sleep. I hold space for those friends of mine in cities under siege and hope they don’t get caught in the cross fire.

I only hope this pain will bring about the radical, systemic change that is the only thing that will heal these wounds.

So as I said when I started out this post, I offer you some photos of beauty, taken today.

Golden Deer Against an Angry Sky – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-545)

Risk – Day 565

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Severe Storms Ahead – Photo: L. Weikel

Risk

Watching reports of the protests occurring nationwide in response to the reprehensible acts (or failure to act) of the four Minneapolis Police Department officers that resulted in the death of George Floyd is upsetting enough. But when you stop for a second and realize these protests and marches are taking place in the midst of a global pandemic, in the midst of a virtual plague, the fact that so many thousands of people are willing to put their lives at risk to demand justice speaks louder than any words they could chant.

A couple times today I heard or read someone express surprise that people are in fact gathering in these huge crowds, considering the considerable risk of spreading the coronavirus – particularly given that black and brown people seem to be harder hit, proportionately, than the rest of the population.*

But doesn’t their very willingness to risk exposure to the virus show how desperately our country needs profound systemic reformation – immediately?

What Trumps Who

If we’re honest with ourselves, black and brown lives are at risk no matter what. Sure, if they catch Covid-19, they’re at greater risk of being hospitalized and dying from it. But as things stand now, they’re at risk of being hospitalized or dying simply from being what they are. And yes, I’m consciously saying ‘what’ they are as opposed to ‘who’ they are.

For who they are doesn’t matter in the least. It’s all in the color of their skin, baby. That’s all that matters to far too many people who have access to instruments of power and lethal force, be they cell phones to call 9-1-1 on a ‘black man’ daring to call her out for breaking the rules to guns or choke holds or knees to the neck.

As we’ve nauseatingly seen time and again, people of color are not allowed to be in our country. They’re not permitted to play, or to jog, or to watch birds in the park. They’re not allowed to sleep in their own beds without being subject to lethal force when idiot police try to execute a no-knock search warrant in the middle of the night on the wrong apartment.

Mother Rage

As a mother myself, I cannot imagine the rage and fear experienced by mothers of children of color. And yet my sense that I would not be able to contain my outrage and terror is an indicator of my privilege. Why? Because my sense of justice burns hot for my babies. And yet mothers of black or brown children dare not risk expressing the rage I, as a white person, cannot imagine not expressing.

How do they live with that inexpressible terror and rage, simmering deep within? Any of us who contemplate such ongoing hell know – they can’t breathe. We can’t breathe.

There’s a plague hitting our country all right. While it exists all over the world, it is deep and ugly and pervasive all over the United States, but especially in places of power. And it’s time we  stood up, link our arms, and say in one voice, “NO MORE.”

We’re all brothers and sisters no matter the pigment of our skin. We bleed. We love. We grieve. We breathe.

We must actively take a stand. We must demand systemic reform. We must demand that this scourge be condemned and actively eradicated by those holding positions of power. Now. No more waiting. And if they won’t do it?

Vote. Them. Out.

And if that’s snatched away from us?

Cletus Contemplating the Impending Chaos – Photo: L. Weikel

 

*To be fair, the footage I’ve seen shows the vast majority of protesters wearing masks – and in many places, actually marching and assembling while maintaining some semblance of social distancing, which is no mean feat. This shows respect and reverence for life – theirs and those around them, as well as those with whom they live – which, I suspect is precisely why they’re willing to risk it all.

(T-546)

We Can’t Breathe – Day 563

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Photo: L. Weikel

We Can’t Breathe

This will not be a long post.

I spent the better part of this evening celebrating something wonderful – the third anniversary of my middle son’s marriage to my daughter-in-law Tiffany. We love each other. We maintained safe distance between us and they did not even come into our home. Rather, we sat outside enjoying the smell of freshly cut grass, the flicker of lots of candles on the porch, and the ribets of what must be massive bullfrogs in the pond behind our barn.

We used to be able to see each other often – once a week, if we were lucky. Tonight was only the second time in three months that all four of us were within twelve feet of each other at the same time.

A Realization

But while I was lucky enough to be able to celebrate this anniversary with my family, so many other people are suffering unimaginable and utterly senseless loss. And the thought of what those other people are feeling and experiencing takes my breath away.

I do not say this lightly.  For days and days following my son Karl’s death in 2011, I would find myself feeling as though there was a huge invisible weight on my chest. I’d never felt anything like it – even after my own parents had died. This grief was different.

As I may have written last night, when I watched the video of the incident in Central Park and then saw the still photos (and read the description) of what happened to George Floyd, I started feeling that weight in my chest again. It is as if the world is so heavy and so unimaginably cruel that it’s impossible to take another breath.

The Microcosm and the Macrocosm

After our celebration this evening, I came inside and watched some reporting on MSNBC. I watched the interview by Lawrence O’Donnell of George Floyd’s sister, Bridget Floyd. And I felt that weight again. I saw her shirt with her brother’s last words, “I can’t breathe.”

I remembered the words of the man in NYC, Eric Garner, who also said, “I can’t breathe,” and was killed by NYC police officers.

They are the microcosm. The macrocosm, I realized tonight, is the coronavirus, the root of Covid-19. How do I arrive at that? What are all of the people dying from Covid-19 feeling before they die? “I can’t breathe.” What do they say when they arrive in the emergency departments of hospitals all over the world? “I can’t breathe.” What is the state they are in when they’re put on ventilators? They can’t breathe.

Our world – but in particular our country – can no longer breathe. We are choking on our own injustice, inhumanity, greed, systemic racism, and simple cruelty.

Yes, it hit me tonight. There’s a theme to all of the suffering we’re seeing play out around us and within our homes, families, communities, and countries. We can’t breathe with the continued injustice we’re witnessing and experiencing.

We can’t breathe with the overwhelming cruelty we’re witnessing day in and day out, perpetrated by our supposed leaders and elected representatives. We can’t breathe if their actions truly reflect our hearts. Because there’s no way anyone can breathe and endure this awful, unbelievable, grief.

We must find a way to heal this. I know we can. But first, we must each take a deep breath ourselves. Feel that life force enter our bodies and ask how we can help others breathe, too.

(T-548)