The world is in an interesting place and we are at the precipice of it.

Recently, I’ve been rolling ideas in my mind, trying to find a concrete balance between work and play, discipline and pleasure, spiritual devotion, and mundane order. Allow me to admit that I have not yet found my footing. Much of my childhood spent in a frantic fear of getting things wrong; of not knowing how to respond, when to make certain moves or perhaps how to begin to unravel the meaning behind some of the actions (or lack thereof) of those around me. Was inaction due to laziness or a lack of understanding? Were we stripped from our natural God-given resources and thus caused my family, my community to be in a perpetual state of fear? Did this fear strip us away from our natural longing of mutual connection and wholeness? And what does this connection and wholeness mean in the practical, mundane world which arguably seems devoid of the recognition of the wholeness of the Divine?

Contrary to popular practice, I am not here to blame anyone for anything. What I seek is a space of understanding. You see, I have been tired and angry for the past few months. Truly angry, a silent bitterness collecting at the base of my psyche. As I drive through the streets of one of the most expensive cities in the world, biting at my fingertips as bikes rush headlong before cars into incoming traffic, rushing to go to a place that promise to fulfill their needs only to be left aching and wanton. This I know as I’d once rushed headlong into the city with the same desires and aspirations – a dream to make more money and to reinvent myself as anyone I’d wished to be. Only now the only one I wish to be is no one else but me. 

It is a truly odd time in humanity, where greed is the order of day. Many people are struck with disgust at witnessing the atrocities of the world: walking outside and seeing young men and women at the corner of busy streets clamoring for resources, food, shelter, or simple affection. While we, reluctant or perhaps too guilty and poor to reach into our own pockets, look on with gazes of disgust and heartbreak at the world around us, at the unfairness and chaos that ensues on this beautiful planet. Oh, the suffering that we cause one another. It would be remiss for me not to mention that in these odd times witnessing reality is heartbreaking, nevertheless overwhelming. Those considered fools are the only ones who walk the earth with a feet as light as a feather, flowing to and fro among the chaos. Is it that they do not witness the distress that tugs at our heart strings or perhaps they feel disconnected from it, unable to witness another being as their own selves? Or are they the most wise of us all; welcoming and processing each emotion deeply as it arises, willing to venture into the depths of the unconscious human shadow. Witnessing then embracing the faces of destruction.

And isn’t it scary to recognize that those faces look like your own? The hands that clamor for more wealth, the nose that wrinkles in the stench of poverty, the eyes that avert their gaze from witnessing injustice. Isn’t it heartbreaking to know that each of these faces; the eyes, the nose, the hands, the arms, the legs, the heart—they each look like our own. And yet somehow, with the twisting of the ego, the whispers that lead them to disconnection, what they find in another steady heartbeat is a pulse that does not match the rhythm of the universe. In this disconnection, you might also find the same seat of suffering and destruction that causes so many of us to be lost.

I’ve been asking myself, “what to do in times like this”? My solace has been teetering between indignant anger, hopelessness, detachment and hopeful prayer. A huge part of me recognizes that there is not much that can be done to undo the mess that we have created of the world. The mess that we have created of each other. Our deeds are written and the actions that our hands have sent forth are in the process of materializing over and over and over as we pick of the fruits that our seeds have sown. It is only now when we find that our crops are rotten and close to dying do we in exasperation call on the name of the One who created the seed in the first place. Begging for the divine to restore some sense of order in this fractured reality.

A deepening prayer on my tongue is for the strength and resilience to carry on. To take time away from my mind in the hopes that it does not continue to attack me. To detach even as it attempts to console me. When you are truly stemmed in the midst of chaos, your mind can be so blinding that sometimes it is the most helpful to take a step back and breathe. To connect to a deepening Essence so much larger than yourself, that when you arrive at its doorstep and perch yourself on its living room floor, all that you hear is insurmountable silence and a deep space of rest. And oh, do we deserve rest.

There is not much that I can offer in terms of answers. I would like to say that there should be some union formed; politicians held accountable; or even individuals to point to as the seat of blame. But in truth, I find no one to hold in the hostage in the hot seat. All that I have been dreaming of is the ability to appreciate beauty; to plant flowers and seeds of vegetables and fruits, to love earnestly and forgive; to release myself of myself and help another. It is a gift to try to love others just as much as I love myself and to find an even greater reservoir of love for God. A deep reverence that allows us release shame and judgement and to show up for the people that we love. To help when and where we can and to let go of the rest. There is much about the world we are unsure about, much that we hope we will have time to be able to reconcile and in many ways, a silent wish to leave something better than what we have been gifted with in our own time. This is the dream of many who have come before us in the hopes that we might be stronger, smarter, and better suited for tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder, even if all material has begun to crumble—houses unable to be purchased, wages unable to fly us on four times a year vacations or buy us the newest game set with debt up to our necks—might we still find peace? Is there a place where material wealth is not the bane of our existence? Where just enough is good enough for us to live earnestly and build community? I wonder what are the things that truly matter for building stability for myself and my family? And does it mean that I need to be in a space where I am considered rich and wealthy?

It is interesting times that we walk in and many of us are in the seat of suffering. With fear clouding much of our judgement, we walk the path of detriment believing that if we lose our stable income, homes, positions that we truly lose all that matters. It’s a crime to be robbed of the natural right toward affordable housing, food, and clothing. But perhaps, it is even more of a crime to be robbed of the natural recognition that our wholeness depends not on what the material world can afford us, but the jewels that our hearts bring into the world inside and around us.

And I pray that this is enough.