The hyper-connection of our time has had the effect of opening my heart to the joys and sorrows of so many more people than previous generations of humans would ever have known.
When a Pakistani girl is shot in the head for daring to want to be educated, the whole world is engaged, thankful for her amazing recovery, and energized to follow her lead in insisting on education as a human right for every child, no matter their physical characteristics or where they were born.
When an earthquake strikes, or a tsunami hits, or a wildfire gets out of control, we are all aware and sending the energy of our love, prayers and resources to assist the victims.
We are with the Greeks as they wrestle with their ailing economy; with the Syrians as they struggle to stabilize their war-torn country; with the Liberians as they work methodically to bring Ebola back under control.
Increasingly, national borders are losing meaning, as we realize that the human family is global, united by the characteristics that make us human: our intelligence and creativity; our capacity for empathy and compassion; and yes, our capacity for cruelty and aggression, too.
Yet when tragedy strikes within the micro-borders of my own community here in the Berkshires, it hits my heart with a special resonance. When a teenager whom I watched grow up from toddlerhood is killed in a senseless accident, and I hear the outpouring of love and grief from the community, I wish there was something I could say, something I could offer, that might serve as a balm.
What could I say that would not seem trite and over-used? Is there any constructive way to look at this latest death in a long chain of premature deaths of beautiful young people? Is there any more thoughtful response than what I really want to express, which is a long, wordless, howling moan?
Parenting is a unique undertaking. Done right, it brings out the most altruistic side of us humans. We are willing to sacrifice, to defer our own dreams and desires, so as to provide the best possible opportunities for our children. For the good 20 years that it takes to raise a child, the borders of our own beings are expanded to include those autonomous parts of ourselves — our children — out there navigating the world independently and yet always held within the aura of our love and attention.
When a child dies out of turn, still young with so much life left to live, a piece of his or her parents dies, too. I do not know personally what this feels like, my two sons still being alive and well today, but I can imagine that this is a loss from which a parent can never fully recover. I can feel in my own soul what a wound it would cause to be separated forever from one of my dearly beloved sons.
The power of the human imagination to empathize deeply with others is our most valuable trait. It holds the seed of the vision of world peace and ecological harmony, not just among humans but among all living beings and life systems on our planet.
When I feel the pain of a grieving parent, my heart is opened to understand the pain of all parents who lose a child, no matter who they are or where they live. I have the potential to turn my compassion into radical empathy, a heart-centered awareness of the value of life that can be put into action in a myriad of ways. I can step imaginatively into a new role as an honorary parent to every beautiful young thing on Earth, understanding that for my own child to thrive, all other children, as well as the sapling and the bee larva and the fish hatchling, must also be well.
There are no words to adequately soothe the pain of a bereaved parent. But moving forward — for go on we must — let us open our hearts to embrace the suffering, not only in our own backyards but among all beings, everywhere. In Buddhism, this is known as the practice of tonglen, breathing in the pain of others, breathing out love and compassion towards others and one’s self.
If, using our powers of empathy and imagination, we are able to strengthen the bonds that hold our Earth community together, then the pain we are feeling will be alchemized into something truly golden, and the deaths of these beautiful innocent young ones will not be in vain.
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The weekly EDGE WISE column is curated by Jennifer Browdy, Ph.D., associate professor of comparative literature, gender studies and media studies at Bard College at Simon’s Rock and the Founding Director of the Berkshire Festival of Women Writers. Women writers interested in publishing in EDGE WISE can find writers’ guidelines on the Festival website, or may submit queries or columns to Jennifer@berkshirewomenwriters.org.
