Injustice

This last week has been really hard for so many. It's been loss upon loss, and grief upon grief when we've seen some of the worst of what humanity has to offer - and the news just keeps coming in. We have seen and felt the anger, the absolute rage that arises. All this at a time when we are already grappling with difficult feelings of uncertainty and hopelessness due to the pandemic. Moreover, everything is happening on many levels from the personal, to the civic, to the global. 

I know that something must be done about the injustice I see in the world. I know better and therefore I must strive to do better. But what does that look like in my life? I believe that the trajectory of the fight for human rights is longer than my lifespan but still, what must I do? I don't have all the answers right now but I do know that action is required. How do I make meaningful changes? 

I am not going to drink alcohol this week and attend to the feelings that come up (just ignore all those local beer and wine companies advertising free contactless delivery). I don't actually drink a lot but I do know it affects my ability to regulate and feel emotions. Even without alcohol, there is the distortion of how I am feeling and thinking caused by the reality of the Covid-19 constraints. Thus far, if I'm being honest, my reaction to the news stories, from Amy Cooper's phone call, to George Floyd's murder, to the riots, is that I'm not shocked. While I am disgusted, I don't feel it fully. I want to examine this. The gravity of what I'm seeing in the world right now needs my attention. 

Take the care that you need through all of this, dear friends,

Mary

PS: Below is a poem about my personal experience seeing my husband's death and may not be for some readers. I hesitated in sharing it but it is an honest attempt to come to terms with my experience. I think we need to find honest ways to deal with the horror we see in our lives and in the world. 




Pietà

There's a private pietà
in the cathedral of my mind.
It is not made of marble.
It is hot blood on my hands
and a metallic taste in my mouth.
It is concrete and a coagulated mass in the dirt.
It is me crouched at your head
and seeing your eyes open and dead.
Don't leave me, I say.
It is the gurgling sound of my breath
coming back out of your mouth.

Written February 29, 2020



 



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