Joy might help us survive

My hunch is that joy is an ember for or precursor to wild and unpredictable and transgressive and unboundaried solidarity. … Though attending to what we hate is often all the rage (and it happens to be very big business) noticing what we love in common, and studying that, might help us survive. — Ross Gay

Joy might help us survive. It is that simple. Let me explain. Joy is antithetical to division and looks more like dance than a fist fight. Joy is vital in the way that breath keeps us alive. Joy is lithe, fierce, and abundant. Joy creates and does not destroy. (Why does creation often seem more complicated than destruction? Perhaps it is a result of a collective lack of imagination — an atrophy of impulse, energy, and love.) Joy attracts expands, elevates, and extends. Joy is not one size fits all. It is as small as a wink or hug and as big as a miracle or masterpiece.

What is the relationship between joy and survival? The stakes of cruelty, isolation, and fear are too high to sustain a life without joy. The pain of a life without joy is too great. The weight of a life without joy is too heavy. Noticing what we love in common is where the stakes, pain, and weight begin to fall away — one decision, intention, invitation, belief at a time. This is gentle work. It is the work of soft hearts and outstretched hands. Its is the work of listening and seeing. It is the work of inches and moments. It is the work of hope in the face of terror and cruelty.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 051 — 056

Photographs. Wishes. Words. Recollection.

EXERCISE 051: WRITING WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

make a wish

Look at a picture from the news. Describe the picture. Make a wish for anyone or anything in the picture.

I have chosen a photograph by Mahmoud Issa/Anadolu/Getty Images published recently in The Guardian. The photograph is of children, probably between the ages of 8 and 10, learning to play the violin in Gaza. Their are two students carefully holding their violins and studying the violin of what I assume to be their teacher. Their music lesson is occurring in a tent-like structure.

I played the violin when I was their age. We called it a fiddle because I was learning basic Bluegrass melodies and songs. My fiddle-playing heart weeps when I think about the profound act of courage it takes play music in a burning world. My artist’s heart rejoices and believes their music is resistance to a world of fear and destruction. My humanity knows the arts — our poems, books, paintings, and songs, the fruits of our creativity — save us.

My wish for the children in the picture is that peace come to their world. My wish for the children is that music bring light in darkness. My wish is that music ease their pain. My wish is that music heal the centuries of injury. My wish is that will grow up and play their songs.

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Taking A Walk #12

Taking a walk with Ross Gay

Early this year, I took writing class with Jeannine Ouellette. We wrote a weekly short essay inspired by Ross Gay’s Book of Delights. We were encouraged to find and write about a delight every day, as Gay had done in writing his book.

I have learned a few things while finding and writing about delight. I am reminded of the time in my past when I have kept gratitude lists. I am grounded in the importance of breath and presence. My paying attention muscles, my hope bones, my vision horizon, my imagination machination all work together to make finding delight happen like breath.

Read more here.

What I am Learning

Folk Song

Let me enter the afterlife lithe not plodding. — Dianne Suess

I believe in an afterlife. I never plod. Sometimes I crawl. I sometimes cry. Sometimes I climb. Sometimes I dance. Sometimes I sing. I never plod. When I feel myself begin to plod, forget to breathe because breathing hurts, grow numb at the enormity of it all, clench my fists and heart in anger, coil like a snake being pursued by a predator, I sit. I sit as many times as it takes to remember. I sit as many times as it takes to pay attention. I sit as long as many times as it takes to invite it all to walk with me. I sit as many times as it takes for knowing to rest within me.

Read more here.

Kindness

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,/ only kindness that ties your shoes/ and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,/ only kindness that raises its head/ from the crowd of the world to say/ It is I you have been looking for,/ and then goes with you everywhere/ like a shadow or a friend. — Naomi Shihab Nye

I few months ago, I listened to an “On Being” podcast conversation between Naomi Shihab Nye and Krista Teppet, “Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside . . .“. She read this poem during the conversation. I have thought about this poem ever since. As someone who spends time connecting kindness, gratitude, and wide-awakeness (ultimately/hopefully, living more kindly, gratefully, and wide-awake), her words made me think.

Read more here.

The Last Thing

I know/ you don’t always understand,/ but let me point to the first/ wet drops landing on the stones,/ the noise like fingers drumming/ the skin. I can’t help it. I will/ never get over making everything/ such a big deal. — Ada Lemon

I make things a big deal. Over and over again, I pay attention and notice and reflect. Let me explain. I believe our capacity to experience awe is holy. I believe our ability to feel joy is a blessing. I believe our ability to love is divine. I believe making a big deal and taking up oxygen and space and time is essential. I believe making a bid deal is living exactly they way we are supposed to live — with intention, purpose, integrity, honesty, and love. Within all that, even the smallest of deals are big deals.

Read more here.

Paying Attention

Diane Suess, Folk Song

Naomi Shihab Nye, Kindness

On Being, Naomi Shihab Nye and Krista Teppet, Before You Know Kindness As The Deepest Thing Inside

Ada Limon, The Last Thing

Ross Gay, Delight & Joy Are Survival Mechanisms & Acts of Resistance

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