On Wars & The Collective Us

Previously posted on TinyLetter

Buckle up, it’s been a while.

We are existing in a rocky world right now. We have wars happening on every side of us. From Ukraine to Sudan to Armenia to Israel and Gaza. The volcanic eruption threatening Iceland. There is a thickness upon our very being that, if we allow ourselves to lean into it, we might feel overwhelmed by its desire to swallow us whole.

This time is also ripe for entrapment in the form of dichotomous thinking; this good or bad or us versus them thinking is responsible for more than wars. Binary thinking moves us further away from one another by forming a barrier against compassion, empathy, and contemplative ways of seeing and being with each other. This has been an obsessive thought I’ve had over the past few months, and it has only grown heavier the more I read and watch what is happening across this place we call Earth and home.

And with this kind of thinking, I have to assume there is a more fundamentally human and better way of being. This is my glass half full.

Let’s take a figurative and mental walk together. Imagine we are at a concert and the song we both love comes on. No matter the tempo, there is a consistency to both you and me, and perhaps those who surround us. We are one with the music that engulfs us. Maybe we get goosebumps but we definitely share this moment and this space together. Or, if you’re more familiar with a church experience, it’s the goosebumps when existing together during a song. Some call this the Holy Spirit. Others call it “Collective Effervescence.” Whatever your preference on semantics, the point is this: we are connected whether we want to be or not. 

Emile Durkheim called this kind of soul and social unison “collective effervescence.” It’s a feeling of belonging produced by a collective ritual action. Dacher Keltner, a professor of psychology, expands on this by pointing us to the kind of feeling we get at concerts or church or a protest – those goosebumps produced by the act of syncing up with one another. It’s a profoundly human experience, and it’s one we need to pay closer attention to.

It’s why we can say, “I know this hurts” when we encounter someone who has experienced great loss. Heartbreak is a universal understanding.

Fr. Richard Rohr believes personal transformation comes from great suffering and great love. Call me crunchy or a mystic, but I am of the thinking that we belong to one another. Where I learned this the most exists outside of religion. I learned it through the act of giving birth and the act of loss. Through birth, I was so, so intentional about connecting with all those in that exact moment as me; with a breath in and out, I was fully connected to the great birthing experience. I hands-down believe this kind of meditation allowed me the birth I desired.

When I had a miscarriage a few months ago, it was that same kind of mindset. I needed to pull from the universal pain of those who’ve experienced this before. This gave me the strength to know I was going to be OK and that I was not alone. When I read of the wars, famines, and genocides that feel never-ending, I am reminded that we are supposed to share in this pain by remaining open to it. The choice to ignore or tune out can be a valuable tool to reboot, but it should not be the default. The fact that we even have a choice to do so is a kind of superiority and privilege of its own. My dear friend Jeff Siegel, fellow writer and thinker, wrote recently:¨

Do whatever you need to do to cope, with the invitation to go deeper into the complexity. To let narratives that swirl in your head (and the media) settle so you can begin to access deeper parts of your humanity.

And I think that’s the whole point of my writing here – access those deeper parts of your humanity to find that connection point. It exists, and it is always present. Recall your own moment of great love or great suffering. Ask yourself: Who was there? When someone made eye contact with you during this, what did that feel like? When did the healing come and who helped you there?

From that same space, tune into these events with a different understanding that there is no dividing line. A rose is a rose is a rose. A child lost is a child lost. We must fight to exist outside of the binary lines that the media, politics, and religion can so easily draw for us.

We can only heal if we see one another through the lens of our layered humanity. 
 

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Namaste & Honored Humanity
xo, B