Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Crisis

I live in the fire-riddled north bay. It has been a couple of weeks since we were all shocked by the vehemence of the firestorm. In those first 7 to 10 days, an aura of crisis accompanied the smoke. People were missing, homeless, and uncertain. The flames burned at more than some of our favorite spots, but at our hearts. It was a time of terrible vulnerability.

I have noticed, over the years, that times like these tend to bring the best out of people. There was an opening of hearts and homes, of supplies and of volunteerism. Life slowed its steady pace, and became a gradual offer of arms, tears, and gratitude for others. Gratitude and grief flowed over the fire-ravaged landscape. Along with the heartache, there was a great feeling of togetherness. For the time of the fires, reflected in the light of the flames, emerged a sense of community.

It is with this that I find myself dwelling today. I am heartened that so much of the general populace of this area rose up and cared about each other. This showed me something. We are social animals, we respond to each other’s pain. We want to address the damage done. We will help each other (even if we don’t know how). I could feel the way differences of skin-color, social status, or religious affiliations melted in the heat of the moment. Strangers cried and held each other.  We just knew we all shared the same vulnerability — something so awesome and unstoppable assailed us.

I knew that crisis is a powerful community-builder. I’ve known that for a long-time, although I’m always touched when it does happen. Still, I catch myself wondering about the human spirit. Why does it take a crisis for us to come together? I want to always feel strong in the ways I have found strength in our neighborhoods, schools, and cities. There seems to be something in our shared vulnerability that catalyzes a caring response in us. Thank God, but what is it about us, that sheds protective layers for the sake of others?

Whatever it is, crisis arouses it. I’ve come to believe that it is shared vulnerability, although, of course, I don’t know. I am so impressed by the sense of kinship that arises when people go through hardship together. I am sometimes envious, but mostly awed. Identity has suddenly been transformed, and teammates become buddies, neighbors become family, and housemates become life-long friends; all because they survived something life-threatening together.

I marvel at this. Others have noticed. In the nineties, many groups tried to replicate this sense of emergency to bring their people together. The pseudo-crisis worked, it brought people together short-term, but after the emergency, real or imagined passed, so did the cohesion of the group. Something more is needed to make the feeling last.

In my mind a lasting crisis is what it takes to provide an on-going sense of community. Something so threatening, at an existential level, that vulnerability is an everyday, everyway experience for all. But, I’m not even convinced of that. You see, in my mind, the crisis of living should be enough. After all, no one gets through this experience alive, and it happens to all of us, there are no exceptions. Isn’t the assurance of death enough? Isn’t aging challenging enough to soften the heart? It is for me. Isn’t the amount of unknown we all live with great enough?

Somehow we manage to block out of our awareness just how vulnerable we are. Maybe this is what it takes to go ahead with life, but I tend to think that if we humans actually felt our day-to-day vulnerability, we would be both more alive and more connected with each other. The vulnerability, we share with all of Life, passing so quickly, could, if we let it show, be just the thing that evokes in us, the tender regard for all, that is the true source of our strength.



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