grieving for the world

Some days I don't know what to do with the things that I see happening in the world.  Actually I feel that way most days if I'm honest.  Often I accuse myself of having no feelings about these things. I think it is actually the battle of having so many.  As an artist, there is some call to see and find beauty in the world. But in the face of so much loss, what does it mean to be an artist?  This is a question that I find myself asking as I now walking through my first semester of seminary.  

Today there are bigger questions.  
What does it mean to live in this world right now? 
What does it mean to be a spiritual person right now? 
What does it mean about creating right now? 

What does it mean to be a witness? 

Today in my artist journal, I practice drawing mouths because so many voices are now silent.
Today I practice drawing eyes, because so many are, looking for answers, blinded by pain and prejudice, and closed in death. 
Today I practice drawing ears as a prayer for deep listening and compassion. 
Today I will try and draw hands - the hardest feature - because they are so 
essential, so needed.  

I think about our need just to grieve, that is so dishonored and policed in our culture.  "Move on." "Let it go." "Things happen for a reason."  All platitudes that diminish that grief is alive and ever present, and a part of what makes us human. 

And so for the 115,000 people whom we were allowed to know lost their lives to violence and natural disasters on Friday, I write and share these words:


there is no need

to split our grief

bodies are on the ground.

ashes are on fingertips,

in breaths.

a long and repeated

blue flashing

howl

ringing

around cities

and lines

around barricades

and bullets,

bombs,

sheets.

no need

to split

our grief

because outlines

of countries

because edges

of whiteness

because molds

of a necessary blame

no need to split

our grief

as if the shapes

of pupils,

ear lobes,

nostrils and lips,

browns -  all the browns - 

draw some

mourning as

less important.

no need to split grief.

no contour drawings

around sadness.

no borders around spirits.

lifting up has only the sky

to stop it.

no need but to grieve.