“We’ll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what’s right
‘Cause where there’s a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
I am never broken” – Jewel, Hands
This has been a particularly disturbing week for me. Guess what? It has nothing to do with adoption!
The announcement of the death of Osama Bin Laden brought out some interesting behavior in many I know and love and since much of that behavior and the associated beliefs were so contrary to my own, I felt a bit of a tremor at my foundation. I debated a bit, not heavily, but a bit. I shared my position which specifically stated I was okay with Bin Laden’s death and the way it happened but I had serious concerns about American (well some American’s response) to it. I was not out celebrating, I was not screaming USA! USA. I was not ripping off my top and shimmying my ample bosom around. I felt no need to do any of those things and I was embarrassed to be American when I saw what some others were doing. Nietzsche came to mind “Be careful when you fight the monsters, lest you become one” as did thoughts of the shadows sides of our personalities, the cold war, memories of that awful day of 9/11 and what happened in my home with my Swedish born au pair and my young son. I found much, too much, of the disturbing reaction laced with jingosim, ignorance, paranoia and xenophobia. I felt frightened for a bit of a spell, worried how the Arab world would react and equally saddened that my children, all three of them, have to live in this world for far longer than I will.
Whilst conversing over Facebook with a friend, I was told that I was clearly “too intense and analytical and needed to relax”. I did not take that as a compliment. When I posted a status update about it, another friend (a mother who surrendered to the Easter House network) remarked that whomever told me I was intense should have met me a year ago. This too, I found to be less than complimentary (it was a reference to my activism and strong views on Easter House and baby brokers and adoption, which many of my EH friends took issue with).
In the end, by today, which is technically the end of my week for I am off on Friday, I feel deflated and a bit lost and questioning my own values, morals, and even my friendships.
Then Oriah posted on her Facebook. Oriah Mountain Dreamer is an author and from her own site “a story-teller, a lover of words and symbols and the stories that lift our spirits, open our hearts and offer us ways to see patterns and create meaning in our lives.” I discovered her years ago and have devoured nearly all her writings, certain ones several times over. Her post today included a video. It caught my attention earlier in the a.m. but I only just now got to watch it. I have embed it below.
It simultaneously renewed my faith a bit in fellow Americans and also validated me. I am okay with intense or highly principled (as my darling Rich labels me). I am good with that. I am even okay with being “the bleeding heart liberal”. As my friend Mirah once told me in response to that statement, I would rather have a bleeding heart than none at all.
The last words in this video struck me somewhere good. Thank you Oriah.
“Remember your heart is a weapon the size of your fist. Keep fighting. Keep loving.”
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