“During the darkest days of the AIDS crisis we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night, and it was the dance that kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for.” – Dan Savage
I heard this quote on a podcast a couple of weeks ago. It continues to simmer with me, offering me multiple layers of meaning, and encouraging me in my efforts to continue to show up with a tender heart in a harsh world.
“We buried our friends in the morning.”
This speaks to me of the grief that meets me almost every morning when I awake. I am not one to follow the daily news with any kind of deliberate intent. Even so, every day I learn of yet another situation in which humans are devaluing other humans, children are suffering and those who are most vulnerable are being exploited and abused. This layers on top of the sadness I experience as those I care about meet their own individual challenges in aging, loss, and heartache.
In all honesty, my first reaction to feeling grief is “I shouldn’t have to feel this way.” Grieving is not fun. When I am present to some of the other uncomfortable emotions, I do feel a sense of value in the discomfort and in the effort of meeting them. Grief just turns me inside out. It is so much more than a feeling. It’s a body experience that takes all the energy I have to continue to process it.
I am reminded here that grief is an integral part of being human. Its presence in my life isn’t something to change or try to fix. It simply is. It needs my care and attention.
“We protested in the afternoon.”
Grief that is tended has the potential to lead to speaking up for or embodying the change we want to see. Anger joins the mourning, and we are led to our unique concrete action. This can be any whatever action is meaningful to us toward making the world a better place, whether public protest or private, deliberate actions of care for those most devalued by our culture. Sometimes it means showing up in solidarity with those who are suffering. Other times it requires speaking up for my own needs, and my own soul-care.
Both the mourning and the protest are important. Grief without action can give way to despair. Action without allowing ourselves to mourn can become indiscriminate rage. The two together acknowledge our individual heartache and our community responsibility.
“We danced all night.”
This speaks to me of the importance of remembering community and celebration and anything that brings me delight. I’m not one to go dancing at a bar or a community centre, but I do love gathering my loved ones for a game night. Another loved one and I live too far apart for to play a board game together, so we make “TV dates” where we watch a feel-good show we both enjoy and text our commentary back and forth.
Sometimes delight is an individual experience, like appreciating the way the light hits an ornament on my desk, or recognizing the pleasure I feel after bringing order and cleanliness to an untidy space. The details of the delight don’t matter. What matters is that we proactively cultivate joy.
“It was the dance we were fighting for.”
When times are hard, paying attention to even the smallest glimmers of joy becomes a tool for survival. They remind us that our humanity includes the the capacity for delight and connection and wonder, which in turn increases our capacity to meet hardship and suffering.
Being a feeling human has never been easy. Being a feeling human at this moment in history can feel overwhelming. Dan Savage speaks to a rhythm of being that can offer guidance for caring for ourselves in difficult times. Grief, anger and joy are all integral to our soul-work.
May today bring you the gift of presence to yourself, and the sparkle of something that delights you.
Leave a Reply