Tsarnaev, heartbreak, and the violence borne of suffering

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anger, boston, boston marathon bombings, death, healing, heartbreak, on being, parker j. palmer, trauma, traumatuesdays, tsarnaev, violence

Last week, the federal courts sentenced young Dzhokhar Tsarnaev to death for his crimes in the Boston Marathon bombing. I don’t talk politics much here, but I will say on the record: I was hoping against hope that it would be life without parole. I hoped – and even believed – that we were better than this now. That we would give this young man – hell, this boy – a chance to grow up, to reflect, to be alone with his thoughts and out of the public eye for years – and perhaps, to find redemption.

But we’re not so good at that, as a species. Even though Martin Richard’s family, who had the ultimate loss in this tragedy in the death of their young son, said that they did not want the death penalty. Apparently, our sense of revenge was more important than responding to that family’s plea to not take another child away from this world.

I read an article by Parker J. Palmer a few days before the verdict, in the amazing On Being blog. Entitled Heartbreak, Violence, and Hope for New Life, it is built around the repeated refrain, “Violence is what happens when we don’t know what else to do with our suffering.”

It tracks the idea that as individuals, and indeed, as a nation, we often don’t know what to do with our suffering, and so lashing out feels like the only option. It happens with the cycle of abuse, when a child who was beaten up grows up to beat up her own kids. It happens when we turn violence against ourselves or others in response to grief and pain. As Palmer writes, “We turn to noise and frenzy, nonstop work, or substance abuse as anesthetics that only deepen our suffering. Sometimes we visit violence upon others, as if causing them pain would mitigate our own. Racism, sexism, homophobia, and contempt for the poor are among the cruel outcomes of this demented strategy.”

We do it as a nation, as when after the few weeks of solidarity and heartbreak that followed 9/11, we went to endless war.

And we did it this week, when we decided that our response to the suffering we experienced after the Marathon bombing should be the death – irrevocable and state-executed – of a a young man who could yet, with time, be healed.

Suffering breaks our hearts — but there are two quite different ways for the heart to break. There’s the brittle heart that breaks apart into a thousand shards, a heart that takes us down as it explodes and is sometimes thrown like a grenade at the source of its pain. Then there’s the supple heart, the one that breaks open, not apart, growing into greater capacity for the many forms of love. Only the supple heart can hold suffering in a way that opens to new life.

I hope that if you are reading this, if you are suffering today, if your heart is breaking, that it is able to make room, to expand, to be supple and strong.

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Carmina Burana, the bombings, and being an artistic first responder

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back bay chorale, boston, boston marathon bombings, current-events, giving a voice, ilana rubenfeld, music, performance

On Monday night, I returned to rehearsal with the Back Bay Chorale. We rehearse on Newbury Street, about a block from where the Boston Marathon bombings occurred, and since we rehearse on Mondays, last week’s rehearsal was a no-go.  But this past Monday, we were back, and our fearless leader Scott Allen Jarrett had some beautiful things to say.

Many of us probably felt a bit helpless on the day of the event, but many of us also tried to find ways to respond that would be productive in some way.  As not all of us can be first responders, or firefighters, or police, or doctors, we looked for ways to connect.  To help the grieving.  To begin the healing.  Scott plugged us choristers in to what it is that we do, and how much it truly helps.  Here is an excerpt from his letter to us:

As creative people, we feel the impulse to actively participate in making music, as affirmation of our communities. And in so doing, we each become ‘first responders’ of a sort. Some of you sang the Brahms Requiem last night. Others of us sang Messiah Saturday night. Still others raised the roof of the Garden with the National Anthem at the Bruins game.

Tonight we’ll gather to rehearse Carmina Burana. There is no In Paradisum or Selig sind die Toten, a Heaney sonnet, or even an energetic Et vitam venturi. But these texts are in our shared musical vocabulary. They are the reason we can so ably and readily respond in time of need. We have practiced being a community before. And we will do just that tonight and next Monday and in all our future rehearsals and performances….

Most of the time, I’m interested to care for the music, and in so doing, care for one another, each receiving in her own way. And so tonight, come and sing, work hard and sing more right notes, get better, learn a few more words. But let’s ‘lean forward’ together and look for ways to care for one another. This practice of community is and will be a healing and necessary affirmation for us all.

At the rehearsal itself, he drew us together still more, his voice breaking a few times as he gave his earnest self to us, and to the music, yet again.

I am struck, again and again, by how healing music is, and how intimately related it is to the body, especially for singers.  The ability to literally move vibrations through our bodies and produce sound, which then enters our own ears and others’, and which literally moves us and changes us, is a powerful gift.  Sound, as psychology professor Anne Fernald explains, is like touch at a distance, and so the intimate relationship between Ilana Rubenfeld’s musicianship and her healing work begins to make more sense.

I feel blessed to be able to work with singers as a singer, and also, to work with performing artists as a healer.  As we work together, we help each other to become more responsive – rather than reactive – in situations where what is called for is contact, community, and harmony.

 

Shelter in place

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boston, boston marathon bombings, current-events, fear, language, safety

Today the weirdness around the Boston Marathon bombings continues, as Boston and surrounding areas are in lockdown, the police are on a supermilitarized manhunt, and residents are being ordered to stay inside with their doors locked.  I am just outside the lockdown area (by a town), and I for one will be going out of town as planned.  The idea of being locked inside my house for my own safety chills me deeply, especially as I look at the innocence on the face of young Dzhokhar Tsarnayev – just a kid, really, who nobody suspected of anything.

It’s all so surreal, and sad, and strange.

We’re being told to shelter in place.  Wherever you are now, I wish that for you: that you may find shelter there, in your home, in your town, in your families, in your bodies.

Be safe, everyone.

“We are not built for this.”

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boston, boston marathon bombings, choice, current-events, fear, giving a voice, inspiration

Once again, in the face of unthinkable tragedy – this time much closer to home than any of us here in Boston would like – Mark Morford says the thing I need to hear, and that I wanted to say myself.

I’ve asked here before how we humans are meant to deal with the tragedies that erupt around us every day, especially now that we hear about it instantly and relentlessly.  Increasingly, trauma happens to us not just when we are directly faced with a tragedy, but secondarily, when we are exposed to constant atrocities in our world.

Says Mark Morford:

We are not built for this. We are not designed, at our core, to be able to absorb, at a glance and a click, a tweet and a ruthless video feed, all the ills and horrors of the world, all at once, all manner of chaos and destruction in a nonstop bloody flood over which we are powerless to influence and impotent to stop.

So what do you do when something like this happens – as it seems to, increasingly, in recent times?

You gather in, hold tight, and take care of those close to you. As feeble as it sounds, as meek as you feel, this is the only way. This is also the best way. To help. To be a part. To avoid shutting down, hardening, adding more suspicion and mistrust to the world.

The outpouring of love and support not just locally but globally; the inspiring vision of marathoners completing the race, then continuing to run to hospitals to donate blood; the heroism of first responders, firefighters and others – it’s all made for one inspiring week in the face of tragedy.  And unlike the aftermath of 9/11, it feels like the first response here isn’t one of revenge, of hardening against whatever enemy emerges.  It feels like it may be, really this time, about banding together.

This is the most essential reminder of all, is it not? A handful of violent sociopaths will never match, much less defeat, the support and care of tens of millions. Those who wish harm and damage upon humanity will never outnumber those who enable, empower and heal. The odds are in our favor. They always are. This is why we are still alive. Maybe the only reason.

We are still here, supporting each other, enabling, empowering and healing.  My wish for all reading this is that you might find it in yourself to stay open during this time, to reach out to others, to bring caring and love to those who need it, and to not shut down, grow hard, let this event – the onslaught of events – close you off to humanity.

And anyway, as Stephen Colbert reminds us: we’re tougher than that.

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