Another scenario I suck at is going into a gathering, like a funeral, where there is so much palpable grief, but no one is crying. People are clearly in pain and there is much suffering, but there is no visible release of it. I’m like the fucking wailing woman in that situation, and I start uncontrollably sobbing even if I don’t have a relationship with the person who died or the family who survived. It’s mortifying, but I can’t seem to hold it in.
These two examples are part of the reason I related so much to Greta Thunberg when she spoke at the World Economic Forum and said, “I don’t want your hope, I want you to panic. Because our house is on fire.” She was asking—begging, insisting, even—that people respond more appropriately to the crisis unfolding right in front of our eyes.
It feels like seal has been broken and all hell has broken loose as result right now, doesn’t it—good, bad and ugly? As a country, we are reckoning with much that has been left unsaid—or certainly unheard—for far too long. And many are grieving the loss of what we used to call “normal”. Everyone is talking at once, it seems, and there is much noise in the room. There are tears falling in frustration and pain and anger, as people come together in groups to console, to grieve, to rage and to support. It’s a hot mess, but then again, it’s our mess that has been here all along. We’ve just finally broke the seal that was holding it all in.
Want to know what these daily verses are all about? Read here to learn what inspired this practice on my birthday post, November 1st.