which teaches us about the worth of things.”
At the same time, it is important to look for
some “silver lining,” find the things we can
still be grateful for, hold on to hope.
Every night, before going to sleep, I review
my gratitude list, which includes big and small
items:
I am grateful that my family members are
(reasonably) safe right now, that the ones who
had been ill recovered.
I am grateful for being alive and (reasonably)
healthy.
I am grateful for phones and Internet (that
work...), FaceTime and Zoom, Messaging and
Texting – technology that, though
I often struggle with, allows me to
remain emotionally close to loved
ones from whom I am physically
distant.
I am grateful for finding ways to
get food delivered (hard, but there
are still ways...).
I am grateful to the kind, young
woman who, unprompted, offered
to buy groceries for us and drop
them off, insisting that it would be
“absolutely no problem” (though I
knew it would).
I am grateful for frontline health
ILLUMINATION
“Darkness is your candle.”
– Rumi
Sometimes,
darkness illuminates.
Sometimes,
through the piercing eyes
of darkness, you see clearer
what counts, and who, and why.
You wait for a dark cloud to
finally fade, and when darkness lifts,
you walk back from the edge
grateful, dazzled yet again
by the beauty.
Hope ambles back,
you embrace her tightly yet again,
and despite uneven odds –
you rejoice,
and you sing to the light.
care workers, for our
building maintenance
personnel, for delivery
people, and for others
risking their health to
continue doing work
that helps us all.
I am grateful for the
goodness in people –
for acts of generosity,
for ways to be there for
one another despite the
physical distance, for
ways to comfort each
other, give each other a
lift when most needed. I
am grateful for deeper
conversations, for the
ability to get below the
surface, find out the
nuances of what is really going on,
reflect meaningfully, allow our soft
side to be revealed, embrace each
other’s vulnerable states.
In recent days, I have tried
to limit my intake of the news,
reduce my consumption of media,
expose myself to enough news to
be informed, but not allow myself
to be overwhelmed. I allow myself
to acknowledge and grieve deeply
for the horrible state of affairs,
while holding on to hope and
visions of a better future.
One of the books on transcend-ing
losses that continues to inspire
me is Viktor Frankl’s: “Man’s
Search for Meaning.” Frankl, who
lost all of his family during the
Holocaust and who spent WWII
in concentration camps, believed
that having a future goal, some-thing
to look forward to, prompts
coping with even catastrophic
losses. His goal was reconstruct-ing
from memory and publishing
a book which he started writing
prior to being captured and which
had been confiscated by the Nazis.
He managed to survive, despite
the odds, and his book is a testa-ment
to the power of hope. Frankl
coined the term “tragic optimism”
– the human ability to simultaneously grieve
a painful reality while holding on to hope
and finding meaning.
It is easy to advocate for hope: Hope is our
most helpful tool in mitigating the impact of
tragedies. What Frankl concluded was that
we can grieve and hope simultaneously. We
can experience intense negative reactions
to a traumatic reality but, even in the midst
of darkness, discover glitters of light. Hope
must be flexible though. We cannot fixate on
one hoped-for outcome, insisting on hold-ing
on to the wish that things will return
to the way they were. Hope must include a
willingness to accept other than the desired
outcome. The post-corona world is likely to
be different but, hopefully, a better version
of normalcy will prevail...
One of my pleasures these days is watching
the golf course from my balcony, witnessing
spring’s insistence on taking over in spite of
all that is tragic. I keep on reminding myself
that darkness and light are closely interre-lated
– the yin to each other’s yang. Every
(difficult) day, as darkness surrounds us, I
remind myself that light is worth believing
in, that we depend on each other to dispel
the dark cloud, that we need to stay con-nected
(yes, despite “social distancing”),
that we must shine some light onto each
other’s dark corners, that together we shall
(somehow) overcome. I wrote the poems
here as a tribute to hope.
Wave
The Great Wave by Katsushika Hakusai at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Some days,
the sea that you love,
the sea that is so unpredictable,
sends yet another big wave
you didn't foresee
your way
and you,
seasoned in facing waves
that erupt in the sea that you love,
must muster the old skills
that have never gotten
a chance to rust
and swim
through the wave
that is too high for comfort,
one stroke after another,
trying to breathe in
hope.
And though
the other side of the wave is foggy,
you somehow trust the force
that carried you to solid ground
before, as you fall and rise
with the tide...
June 2020 ¢ NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER 21