I have a beautiful friend that lives in Lebanon. This astounding woman used to be a television producer and quit her job a while ago to work with children in the refugee camps. Through a series of conversations we decided to organize and fundraise to send supplies to a very little known camp that receives little to no aid from the international community. The conditions in the camp are harsh and many refugees die there every winter- sadly a lot of these are children. (You can read about the camp and donate here . ) In my job I see and deal with human tragedy and grief on a daily basis….I feel blessed beyond belief to be able to provide a safe space for and help people move through sadness, trauma and grief. Usually I am pretty able to hold space, be strong and stay clear. (Though of course there are times when things break down a bit for me, but Im usually able to move forward fairly quickly). So this past weekend I was completely taken off guard when I was dismantled by sadness and grief because of this project.
I spent the past two weeks working almost every day on the blog/website that would allow people to donate money so my friend Nisreen could buy supplies in Lebanon and truck them to the camp. I spent every moment of that time thinking about the children living in these camps….do they laugh like my children do- or has their laughter been taken from them? Do they have that sense of child like wonder when they look at the world around them- or has wonder been replaced completely by fear? Do they think about what they want to be when they grow up- or can they not even start to think further than one meal ahead in the future? Do they have even one thing that is theirs to play with- a bear, a doll, a carved wooden dog? As I spent each day working on this project I fell in love with every one of these children that I had never seen- but knew because I felt them in my heart. Somewhere along the way I started to promise them things. I promised them things the way a mother promises her child, with that complete conviction that the ferocity of your love will move mountains.The promises were like a drumbeat in my head :”I will do everything I can to keep you warm. I will make sure your belly doesn’t always hurt from hunger. I will show you that there are people all over the world that see you, love you and believe in you. I will remind you that you are more than your circumstances. I will keep you safe.” But of course I can’t make good on all of those promises, I can’t keep every child safe. I cant take away the pain, fear and unfairness of being born into a situation where your world has been turned completely upside down, where people are being ripped apart by war and hate.
After I finished the website and deployed it I was done with doing. I had nothing to keep that drumbeat from getting louder and louder in my head. I could only wait, check my emails for payments, beg people to donate, talk to these children in my heart, hold them closer and closer and closer as I really let myself come to terms with the reality of the situation. When I was no longer doing I had to really admit to myself that some of these children will die. I had to accept the fact though two passionate, committed women can change so much, but they can not end war, sadness and suffering. Of course I knew that going in,but the doing made it all feel possible. When I let go of the doing I had to tell these children that I was trying to keep safe in my heart that I was only one person and that I couldn’t give them what I promised them. When I finally sat in that space of acceptance I felt myself completely unravel. I let the grief that I was holding for these children dismantle me at my most primal level. I felt the pain of a thousand mothers touch my soul and claw at my heart. I felt the wail of raw pain that was larger than anything I have ever felt before hold me and shake my body with sob after sob. “Im sorry, I love you, I promised you and I can’t keep you safe, Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorryImsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry.” My four year old climbed in to my lap and patted my cheek stroking my hair “I love you, mama. Your heart is sad. Ill fix it.” My 13 year old wrapped his arms around me and held me tight as I sobbed for what seemed to be eternity… “imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry”…..the three of us sat there until the screams of a thousand grieving mothers started to relinquish its grip on me and I was left wrung out, heartbroken, exhausted.
The next day I had to go to a laughter workshop that I was hosting at my studio. It was a wonderful event led by an extraordinary woman living her life in joy, faith and devotion and spreading that message selflessly. We talked a lot about understanding how to live with joy in a world where there is so much suffering. Of course this being a laughter yoga workshop the main goal was to get in touch with our inner bliss or deep sense of joy that the Bhakti Yogis feel is the essence of all of us. It made me happy to watch people around me from my community smile, laugh, release fear and anger, find joy. I was struck at how through all of this I just didnt want to feel that way. I didnt really want to connect right then to my inner joy. I knew it was there…I just didnt want to access it. I wanted, NEEDED to still be in my space of deep profound grief. “Is there something wrong with me because I dont want to let go of this sadness? I dont want to find joy right now? I dont want to serve the world by sending out my positive, clear, joyful energy? What if right now I want to raise my voice in solidarity with the mothers of the world who are falling to their knees holding a dying child in their arms? What if I feel the need to hold that weight a bit in my hands, on my back, in my heart? But what if I get pulled under by that to the point that I am paralyzed? I am angry? I become filled with hate? Im too tired to fight?”
I left the workshop with the laughter of my beautiful studio practitioners ringing in my ears, and the collected wails of the grieving mothers clawing at my heart. I was struck by my need to not only deeply acknowledge both spaces in my self, but also both spaces for the people I was bearing witness for and at the end of the day holding space for. I realized that I didn’t WANT to hold myself back in this instance and “keep myself safe” (that is the mantra of all healers). I needed to stand in that place of pain with my sisters. I needed to make these beautiful babies promises with all of the love and ferocity I have in my soul, and to feel the unbelievable sense of loss and grief when I had to accept that I couldn’t save them. No one ever says in the healing world (or they rarely do) “keep yourself safe from joy”….that seems crazy. But isn’t that what I just did? I kept myself safe from joy because that wasn’t where I needed to be? Of course we shouldn’t drop down into the darkest hole possible with other people in times of suffering….that isn’t safe. But how is holding and maintaining joy a safe space either? I have realized with a few days distance that I didn’t need to go as deep as I did into the darkness (however, I must say I had no idea that I was about to descend like that), but I did need to be there. I needed to be there as an observer,as a witness, as an empathetic being in this world. The first noble truth in Buddhism is that existence is suffering. If we fight that realization, we suffer more. The only way to release ourselves from that suffering is to accept that truth. In that release from wanting something to be what it is not, is happiness. Of course in the path of service and healing that is hard to practice, and almost impossible to really, really accept (though oh my gosh it could be wonderful if we could accept it. ). So in order to put this into some sort of practice in my life I have to trick myself. I make myself come back over and over again to the idea of balance. There is dark. There is light. Sometimes I need to be in the dark to understand the light. Sometimes I need to stand in the light to accept the dark. Sometimes I need to stand with one foot in the light and one foot in the dark to observe them both.
Life is hard and sad. Life is beautiful and easy. Life is very often somewhere in between. Today I thought about the children in the camps. I thought about the darkness and the grief. Then because of my trip so far down into the dark, i started to instinctually move back to the surface to the light. I thought about the resilience of children, about their resourcefulness and about the way children can manage to find joy and play in the hardest of situations. I thought about little hands clutching sticks and hitting rocks at the sky. I heard screams of joy when bare feet padded on the ground running after a friend in a game of chase. I thought about moments of simple, complete contentment when a little head nestled into a parents arms and they felt safe and wrapped in love. Be cause of that trip into the dark I crawled my way back to the light to promise them that I would keep fighting so there would more light moments than dark moments. I moved back into the light to give them their childhood back and their humanity back, because when I stood only in the darkness they became one dimensional figures of the pain of war. I made the choice to stand in the light again so maybe one day I will be able to actually hold one of these children in my arms and tell them how they have inspired me to be a better person. How they inspire me with their heart. How their life is the single most important thing in the world, and how I will always love them more than anything.
If you missed it the first time, here is the link to the project Nisreen Nasser and Shannon Brandt are founders of. Please take the time and think about making a donation. Also, please share and spread the word. Every dime goes straight to the source and saves lives. Thank you.
The Raven and The Wolf Spiritual Services 