I have become numb to the violence.
The everyday, ho-hum “So what else is new?” violence.
Or so I thought.
Numb to the mass shootings. They’ve become commonplace. I can’t believe I’m writing those words — mass shootings are commonplace.
Which has caused these words — Enough. Basta. Dayenu. — to come out of my mouth in agonized grief and frustration many times since Charlottesville. Since — Oh wait, maybe it was Orlando. I can’t keep the massacres straight any more.
How much do I love this!?! Not.At.All. I’ve become numb to it. Or so I thought.
Enough. Basta. Dayenu.
I lean on my communities of change, of commitment. The communities of healers who are supporting each other to reject and release our white privilege.
I have owned my white privilege. I no longer hide behind the assertion that because I am a descendant of the holocaust, I can’t possibly be accused of being privileged.
My face buys me privilege. Automagic. The color of my face buys me slack — so much more slack — than that afforded to people of color. I own it. I am awake to it. I have let go. And I have become numb.
But now! Now an entire new set of sensations have shown up. Insistent and unavoidable.
My 30-year-old daughter went to a music festival in Las Vegas last weekend.
Just down the way from this most recent massacre. Just that close. In time and in distance.
She’s shaken. Of course.
She’s shaken? I heard the news and it felt like my heart stopped for a second.
- Enough with the tiki torches.
- Enough with the racism.
- Enough with the gun lobby trying to push through relaxed silencer laws.
Enough. Basta. Dayenu.
How’s your tender heart?
I’m here to hold this space with you. To wail with you. To rage with you. To settle with you. As often as you need. As often as I need. As often as we need. Let’s connect in the comments, or in email, or by phone — 510-504-6355.
It’s not all grief here today.
Good stuff is happening. Good and wildly exciting.
For today, though, I’m grieving more loss of life, I’m celebrating that my daughter is alive, and I’m appreciating Tom Petty, who, it turns out, was alive (until today) thirteen days longer than I have been on the planet (this go-round anyway).
While Tom Petty was never a must-see musician for me, I have been watching and listening to one of my favorite songs lately, and I’ll leave you with that. (Wow I wish I had seen the Wilburys live. Who’s left? Dylan and Jeff Lynn? Oy.)
So. Here. Enjoy. I’m gonna listen one more time right now myself.
Here’s why I love this song (a sampling of the words, the blessings):
- Well it’s all right, even if you’re old and grey. Well it’s all right, you still got something to say.
- Well it’s all right, riding around in the breeze. Well it’s all right, if you’re living the life you please.
- Well it’s all right, doing the best you can. Well it’s all right, as long as you lend a hand.
- Well it’s all right, even if they say you’re wrong. Well it’s all right, sometimes you gotta be strong.
- Well it’s all right, remember to live and let live. Well it’s all right, the best you can do is forgive.
More about the good and wildly exciting stuff soon. Stay tuned! Blessed be.