It’s 5:30 in the morning and I have
long since given up trying to go back to sleep, having awakened at 2:15. I tried
listening to meditative music, and counting backwards from 300, and keeping my
mind blank, but nothing has worked. So, instead of fighting this insomnia, I am
choosing to look at it as a bonus; I’ve got a few extra hours to be conscious
and alert, a few extra hours found tucked away in this deep night which I can
use to reflect on the mysteries of life and death and all the ways we dance
with these two partners, all the juxtapositions of joie de vivre and the
macabre we’re forced to navigate every day.
Like virtually every other person on the planet with access
to global media, I’ve been thinking about the terrorist attacks in Paris last
Friday. When it happened, I was in New York City, ultimately on business, but
front-loading pleasure, seeing two Broadway musicals with a friend. I was
without a computer, and only had my smartphone as a link to the larger world;
it was all I needed, as it turns out. I read reports of bombs and attacks and
hostages being held, but it wasn’t until I was going into the theatre for that
night’s show that the gravity of the situation began to truly unfold.
I was seated in the Al Hirschfield theatre ready to watch “Kinky
Boots,” a mainly light-hearted and
funny take on the true story of a failing shoe
company that revitalized itself by making sturdy, fashionable, sexy boots
for drag queens. The mood in the theatre was festive; there was lots of sparkly
clothing to be seen. I bought a sassy shirt and posted a picture of it on Facebook.
On Facebook I saw more of the horror that was going on in Paris. I posted that
my thoughts and prayers were with Paris.
Juxtapositions. Terror and death, comedy and theatrics. 129
people were killed and the musical was hilarious
The next evening, after a full day in a leadership training
conference put on by the Metro NYC UU chapter, I was seated in JFK airport
waiting for my flight home. I was eating dinner in a sports bar where there
were several flat screen televisions showing different sporting events; in a
nod to current events, one was tuned to non-stop coverage of events in Paris. The
whole thing felt so surreal. On three screens, side by side, I was watching a
football game, a weight-lifting competition, and scenes from Paris of those
wounded, the buildings destroyed, interviews with survivors. As I
unrolled my
napkin, the cutlery tumbled to the table: a stainless steel fork and a plastic
knife---reminders of another day of terror.
Juxtapositions. Sports and suicide bombers. Commentary on a
weight-lifter’s goal and the names of those who were killed.
And of course now, everyone on social media is weighing in--as are leaders of nations, states and countries-- arbitrarily linking the Daesh attacks with the Syrian refugee crisis, calling on the US government to renege on our promise of welcoming 10,000 refugees in. Some of the more obvious bits of irony are memes that say, "If only there were a seasonally appropriate story about a poor Middle Eastern family seeking refuge and being turned away" and the one that asks, "Whatever happened to your demand that #alllivesmatter?" The most curious juxtaposition, though, is the strident cry of many politicians and presidential wannabees, the
clamor of over half the governors—all Republicans-- in our country to block
Syrian refugees from entering the United States or—worse, really—to only allow “Christian”
refugees, while sending “Muslim” refugees away. What I don’t understand is that
the vast majority of these governors govern states that get an “F” in gun safety laws and
have resisted efforts to put smarter gun control laws into place in the wake of
tragic shooting after tragic shooting by predominantly white United States citizens
who claim Christianity as their religion; in the face of statistics that tell
us we lose 36 people a day to gun violence in this country. If these governors,
and presidential wannabees are really concerned about protecting the good
people of the
United States, should they not first look to putting safety guidelines
in place that can protect us from the most viable, persistent threat, which is
ourselves?
Juxtapositions. Radicals from an extremist group in another
country attack venues in Paris, 129 people are killed. Politicians want to ban
all Syrians fleeing from those same terrorists while in the United States that
many people are killed by guns in just 3 ½ days and those same politicians
actively resist smarter gun safety laws.
This is the bizarro world in which we live, in which we try
to seek meaning and find our rhythm in this dance of life, which is difficult
at best, since we never know when death is going to cut in.
No wonder I can’t sleep.
And that’s just covers the main juxtaposition
du jour. There are others in my life, as I’m sure there are in yours.
So what’s to be done? We can’t control the racist undertones
of much of the rhetoric surrounding the Syrian refugees but we can control our
own response to the tragedy in Paris as it continues to unfold, the tragedy of violence
in our own country that we continue to ignore, and the tragedy of the deadly
war in Syria from which so many are fleeing for their lives.
We can recognize in these multiple tragedies, our own shared
humanity. We can pick up trash when we take a walk around the block and buy
coffee for the person in line behind us at Starbucks. We can not care about the
color of Starbucks holiday cups. We can hold our loved ones tighter, we can
reach out to those who look or speak differently than we do. We can make new
friends. We can hide the posts of those on Facebook who want to rant about politics
in a way that does violence to our spirits; we don’t have to engage them in
debate, we don’t have to unfriend them (since many of these people may be much
beloved family members and friends) but we don’t have to see those posts come
up in our Facebook feed. We can turn off the non-stop coverage of these
tragedies. We can see Kinky Boots or the new Peanuts movie. We can read poetry.
We can even, as Barbara Brown Taylor tells us, read poetry to trees. We can
love, fully and freely and without fear. We can.
We can never guarantee our safety, no matter where we are,
or how heavily we arm ourselves or build blockades to keep others out, but we
can guarantee our serenity, our peace of mind by choosing to let go of those
fears and instead embrace this life, this dance, sometimes leading and
sometimes following, but always sure of our own footing, no matter where the
dance may take us.
Look at that: it’s 7:00 AM now; I guess I’ll put the coffee
on.
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