What Does It Take to Live in the Moment?
View of Santa Fe, NM, from Fort Marcy (Photo: Burt Kushner)
Dear Friends, Seekers, Imaginers,
I’m sitting in the kitchen of a rented house in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains outside Santa Fe. A delicate shower of snowflakes coats the bare branches of the almond trees in a hypnotic display of sparkle and disappear. A line from a poem in my collection M, in the section called, Via Dolorosa, the Way of Sorrow, pops into my mind. (The poems in this section are in the voices of women caught in war or violence; the speakers of these poems tell their stories, stories that are never written into history books.)
The line that repeats in my head is from “Mariska, Poland, 1946.”
We wondered / if we would ever be human again.
For me, this line is one of the most evocative in the book, and sadly prescient. It reflects how many of us feel at this moment. Mariska is a fictional woman who has fled the Nazis and is hiding in the forest, scavenging on berries and roots to survive. Her debased condition and the pervasive urgency of her terror initiates her insight.
We wondered / if we would ever be human again.
Isn’t this the question underneath the other questions we are asking ourselves now? What does it mean to be human? Humane? Are we a species altered in some profound way by our brilliant technology, less attentive to intimate kinship with each other and with the natural world we have abused?
A line from another poem in the book in the section called Via Transformativa, the Way of Transformation, crowds into my head. “From the Other Side” is an imagined dialogue between myself and my dead father. The poem ends with the line:
Barbarians in the streets.
This was something my father believed would happen if the rule of law was subverted: chaos and mayhem would reign, and the uncivil and power-hungry among us would undermine civil society. He was a lawyer and a true believer in the rule of law, without which, he believed, our baser nature would prevail. He would sit in his leather armchair with a sad face and say, “Without the law, the jackals will take over.”
As a teenager, my fist was raised in solidarity with Vietnam protestors, the Marchers on Washington, with the Bob Dylans and Audre Lordes of the world. I scorned my seasoned father’s ideas, (he was old-fashioned but not conservative), but he was of an earlier generation who had lived through the Depression and World War II and its unspeakable horrors. He had witnessed Nazi and Stalinist jackals and was trying to warn me about the mercurial shadowy aspects of human nature.
I turned to poetry for solace and wisdom long before I became a published poet. During times of crises, a natural reaction is to find language that expresses our hopes, dreams, and fears. One of the true glories of poetry is that a single poem, a single page can hold the enormity of what it feels like to be alive. Consider this timely poem by Ellen Bass, “Any Common Desolation,” and its resonant line “You may have to break / your heart, but it isn’t nothing / to know even one moment alive.”
I bring up poetry not only because April is National Poetry Month and I want to encourage you to be curious about finding poets that speak to you, but also to say that poetry can be an antidote to despair. Carl Jung had this theory that is sometimes referred to as “holding the tension of opposites.” For instance, you have been offered a promotion at work that you would love to accept but you are pregnant and dedicated to cutting back your work hours to be with your new baby. What to do? You don’t share every one of your family’s politics or values, but you love them and don’t want to forsake the relationship. What to do?
Jung believed that if a person could hold two conflicting needs/desires without identifying with either position, a third alternative, a creative solution, what Jung called The Transcendent Third, could emerge and resolve the situation. As he wrote in one of his letters, “The transcendent function is not something one does oneself; it comes rather from experiencing the conflict of opposites.”
Speaking of holding the tension of opposites, as I’m sitting here writing about barbarians overtaking the streets or questioning our humanity, I am also aware of the surround of beauty and poignant reality alive and well in the moment. The opposites coexist in this tension. Right now, a mama finch is flying back and forth under the eaves to feed her brood while her rosy-breasted mate guards from a nearby bush. Snow is shimmering down from a preternaturally blue sky, and Maisie the Golden is curled up at my feet. In a minute, I will throw down my pen, kneel, and kiss her wet snozzle. (If you have a furry one you love, you know the impulse!)
The bitter and the sweet. Tell me, is this what you experience in your world too?
Good people, lastly, here are some updates and news to share.
Are you a writer, a creative, or a curious seeker looking for inspiration and structure? Please visit my newly revised website where you will find articles and essays of interest, and also a new feature called Writing Prompts. The prompt that is currently featured is about to change, which will happen every three or four months.
You will also find the audio of an interview I did with Chris Pieper for Taos Radio, which I hope you’ll find stimulating. We explore subjects close to our hearts: dreams, Jung, poetry, writing, the world as it is.
In late spring or early summer, I am looking forward to an interview with Doug Grunther, author of The Quantum & the Dream: Visionary Consciousness, AI, and the New Renaissance, on his new upcoming podcast series, The Visionary Café. Please check my events page for updates on when this will happen
Kindly check out your local PBS listing for the launch of SEE MEMORY, a documentary that explores the science behind memory and trauma by my friend, the exquisite artist and filmmaker Viviane Silvera. It is scheduled to start streaming on April 28.
Friends, please take care of yourselves. This may require fresh inquiry and exploration about what “taking care” means to you. Connection with others is one way we maintain our resilience and hope. Know that I am here, thinking of you and wondering how you are finding our altered reality. I welcome your participation in our community.
With gratitude and care,
Dale
