The News

Each morning we listen for what is breaking—

the sound of a thousand tragedies fills the air,

shattering that never stops,

headlines, a fleet of anchors tangled at our feet.

We watch, worried

if we turn away even for an instant,

it will all crumble the rest of the way.

Forget with me for a moment.

Take an unguarded breath.

Do it now, the world needs your attention here, too,

on the rise and fall of your shoulders,

the rustle of leaves outside the window,

the warm space between your gaze and mine.

--Emilie Lygren

what they did yesterday afternoon

they set my aunts house on fire
i cried the way women on tv do
folding at the middle
like a five pound note.
i called the boy who used to love me
tried to ‘okay’ my voice
i said hello
he said warsan, what’s wrong, what’s happened?


i’ve been praying,
and these are what my prayers look like;
dear god
i come from two countries
one is thirsty
the other is on fire
both need water.


later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?


it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.

-- Warsan Shire

One morning

One morning 

we will wake up 

and forget to build 

that wall we’ve been building, 

the one between us 

the one we’ve been building 

for years, perhaps 

out of some sense 

of right and boundary, 

perhaps out of habit.

One morning 

we will wake up 

and let our empty hands 

hang empty at our sides. 

Perhaps they will rise, 

as empty things 

sometimes do 

when blown 

by the wind. 

Perhaps they simply 

will not remember 

how to grasp, how to rage.

We will wake up

that morning

and we will have

misplaced all our theories

about why and how

and who did what

to whom, we will have mislaid

all our timelines

of when and plans of what

and we will not scramble

to write the plans and theories anew.

On that morning,

not much else

will have changed.

Whatever is blooming

will still be in bloom.

Whatever is wilting

will wilt. There will be fields

to plow and trains

to load and children

to feed and work to do.

And in every moment,

in every action, we will

feel the urge to say thank you,

we will follow the urge to bow.

--Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

- Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956

Blessing When the World is Ending

Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.


Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.


Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.


Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun
the knife
the fist.


Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door
the shattered hope.


Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone
the television
the hospital room.


Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.


But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.


It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.


This blessing
will not fix you
will not mend you
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.


It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.


--Jan Richardson

Humans are not our enemies

“In February 1967 grenades were thrown into the SYSS (School of Youth for Social Service) dormitories during the night.... Eighteen people were killed or seriously wounded. It was difficult to remain calm with so much hatred and anger directed towards us. We wondered how people could be so cruel. We had no weapons, only love and concern for fellow humans. We cared not only for the poor peasants, but also for many other friends. How could they throw grenades at unarmed young people?

We had to take care of the wounded and also to organize funerals for our friends who had died. [A monk] asked me to write a speech for him to read at the funeral. After a day of mindfulness by myself, I wrote the following:

“We cannot hate you, you who have thrown grenades and killed our friends, because we know that men are not our enemies. Our only enemies are the misunderstanding, hatred, jealousy, and ignorance that lead to such acts of violence. Please allow us to remove all misunderstanding so we can work together for the happiness of the Vietnamese people. Our only aim is to help remove ignorance and illiteracy from the countryside of Vietnam. Social change must start in our hearts with the will to transform our own egotism, greed, and lust into understanding, love, commitment, and sharing responsibility for the poverty and injustice in our country.”

--Sister Chan Khong: from the book "Learning True Love: How I Learned and Practiced Social Change in Vietnam"

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

--Naomi Shihab Nye
from "The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems"

Love

Love
but not the kind that runs
on glowing feet
to and from quick meetings
hunting and hunted down
wounded and wounding
not the kind that gets high
on painful good-byes
but the love
which gives peace and rest
which warms and protects

Love
but not the kind
which has hardly stilled its hunger
before a new one arises
not the frantic one
whipped by demands
often more painful than divine
not the love filled with anxiety
scared of being burned
at the same time scared of not getting to burn
but the mildly flowing love
which dares to rest
and, when the time is right,
to arise from rest.

Maria Wine, translated from the Swedish by Christina Lindström Andersson (last line tweaked by me)

Wendell Berry: Do not be ashamed

You will be walking some night
in the comfortable dark of your yard
and suddenly a great light will shine
round about you, and behind you
will be a wall you never saw before.
It will be clear to you suddenly
that you were about to escape,
and that you are guilty: you misread
the complex instructions, you are not
a member, you lost your card
or never had one. And you will know
that they have been there all along,
their eyes on your letters and books,
their hands in your pockets,
their ears wired to your bed.
Though you have done nothing shameful,
they will want you to be ashamed.
They will want you to kneel and weep
and say you should have been like them.
And once you say you are ashamed,
reading the page they hold out to you,
then such light as you have made
in your history will leave you.
They will no longer need to pursue you.
You will pursue them, begging forgiveness.
They will not forgive you.
There is no power against them.
It is only candor that is aloof from them,
only an inward clarity, unashamed,
that they cannot reach. Be ready.
When their light has picked you out
and their questions are asked, say to them:
"I am not ashamed." A sure horizon
will come around you. The heron will begin
his evening flight from the hilltop.