Almost nothing makes me cringe more than my own poetry. At least, that used to be true because the only poems I had written were from my middle school days. I’m taking a poetry class for the first time called ‘Poems That Don’t Suck’ with one of my favorite writers, Megan Falley. I’m finding the class to be grueling and soothing all at once.
Last week, I shared that October is a grief month for me, and many of you shared that you have a grief month as well. We also have entered eclipse season, a time that illuminates our subconscious, and the world seems to have entered a collective chaos. Some of us dive into shadow work around this time, either knowingly or by chance.
Facing our fears and our past selves is a kind of catharsis. In perfect synchronicity, our poetry class writing prompt this week is ‘Shame can’t live in the light.” Hence the grueling part.
As I write this, I’m feeling heaviest from the news out of the Middle East. The last few days have been a devastating and unprecedented time in Jewish history. To witness the pain of innocent people, Israelis and Palestinians, both who have been harmed and will continue to be harmed by this tragedy is heartbreaking.
The news I’m hearing from people in Israel is horrific and I’m not going to recap that here. I feel a sense of loneliness watching the news and social media as people post half hearted justifications for this violence. I feel helpless watching the destruction.
I’m a queer Jewish woman and consider myself politically left-leaning. I grew up in a conservative synagogue, where as kids, like many of my Jewish friends, we were taught to celebrate and support Israel without question.
Of course, the Israeli govenment does not represent all Jewish people and their wishes, it is antisemitic to assume that. The same as in any other country, a government is not always representative of it’s people.
I’ve seen many people I personally care for discussing this violence as a political event, even going as far as to excuse the terrorist attacks. People with no direct connection to this struggle inject themselves into it under a multitude of guises.
They now have an outlet for their hate, elitism, or nationalism. Whatever it is that’s being expressed, we are all human and forming our flawed opinions.
At least, that’s my flawed opinion.
So, I’ve taken a temporary leave from social media. You won’t see me sharing about this there— I don't have the capacity. I want to protect my energy for my clients and students and focus on connection in my community spaces like this one.
I also find myself bracing for the rise in antisemitism that always follows when the news mirrors this ancient conflict to us. That my kids will come home from school trying to process how someone has made a joke about ovens or gassing.
I remember something my therapist says “if you have time to worry about it, it’s not happening yet.”
It is a blancing act to not look away and to preserve ourselves. I want us all to stay connected to our empathy. We are all human first. There are no excuses to be made, and no one deserves any of this. To say otherwise disconnects us from our humanity.
In our last poetry class, Megan shared with us an interview with writer Ocean Vuong, whose work is shaped by themes of violence and survival in the context of the Asian American immigrant experience. Ocean points out how writers often use the language of war as metaphor or descriptive language, it comes surprisingly easy when most of us have never experienced the true horrors of war.
He advises we consider our choice of language because although it’s an easy word bank to pull — “Only war is war.” Wow, yes. How desensitized we have become to human suffering.
A few years ago, my brother-in-law shared with me his feelings about the phrase “killing it.” How shocking it can be to families of murder victims, as he is, that violence is woven into our celebratory language. We say, “I’m crushing it,” or “I killed it,” to mark an achievement. In his interview Ocean talks about how we have the opportunity to affect our future culture with our words. Saying that “the future is not in our hands, but in our mouths.”
I know my readers are mostly made up of the highly sensitive person variety, a small percentage of the population who feel emotions deeply. I imagine, like me, you need to protect your energy, and sometimes the news feels overwhelming. I know you don’t need to be reminded that a life is a life and we are all human first, but I hope you find some validation here. I hope you feel seen.
That’s all I can offer. That, and the idea that when the worst is happening, it’s okay to commit ourselves to seeking out love and connection in our own corners of the world. Take a break from social media, put down the phone, and care for ourselves. Check on our friends and seek out the love in our lives.
So, in the spirit of that, I’ll share a small joy from last week. My ex-husband and his partner had a baby daughter and Rachel and I got to hold when she was just nine days old. My son’s have a sweet, wide-eyed, brand new baby sister. We got to visit and hug her beautiful mom, who announced, “Auntie Sheryl and Auntie Rachel are here.” And even with all the heartbreak and anxiety of the news, I keep thinking, how lucky I am because just look what love can do.
I know it’s a unique relationship that not everyone gets to have and I can’t imagine missing out on any of it. Love is always possible. When fear and destruction threaten our sense of safety, we must remember that love is our most infinite resource, and we can recommit to aligning with it anytime.
Sending love to you in your corner of the world and wishing you small joys.
With love and peace,
Sheryl