To be the change we have to be the change; it doesn’t get much simpler than that.


By Debbie Lynn

It slips and slides, comes and goes and weaves images of “should, could and would” all over my brain.

I know intuitively what this means, so I fight all the human urges I have not to spew as I try to keep my opinions and judgment in check. And I find I lack—I lack the ability to be emphatic to the illogical hatred and blatant intolerances running rabid right now. I just can’t do it.

So, I talk a lot about rising above the atrocities and loving people at an arms length. It works, it truly does, but every now and then I am challenged beyond my scope of control and I can’t seem to find this “compassion” for the pain and ignorance that I am witnessing lately. It is eating me up, spitting me out and I have allowed the nastiness to be injected into my being.

My immune system is in chaos. My heart (my bleeding liberal heart) is closing a bit and I want to get back to my happy place.

I know I am not alone.

I ask myself over and over: is the world really going to allow the meltdown?
Is this the awaking, the catalyst, the end? Yes and no. My meditation practice brings me back to sensibility and it wrap its arms around me in a compassionate strong hold and says the things I don’t want to hear.

I try to listen.

The logical side is: (as we all know) without light there is no dark. We must have opposites for balance so it is in the middle ground, where I like to ground. And I reach with outstretched arms to the illogical. I have to or I would go nuts.

But I slipped.

I fell prey to the toxicity instead of lifting it up and turning it around. I chose to listen to the rhetoric and the talking heads instead of my heart. I didn’t embrace them with their darkness because (DUH!) it is so against all I am. However I didn’t need to absorb it, hold it, talk about it and spread it. Even with the best intentions I went down their rabbit hole, drank the tea and ended up with a heavy guilt-trip.

Now, with Kleenex in hand, warm tea for my throat, I am getting back to sacred ground, climbing my way out to put some sanity back into my heart and mind.

The reality is: Suffering is everywhere in large and small doses. To hold an open conversation about it is fine but it is amazing what we can see and do in our own backyard. For the sake of our communities and our broken hearts, getting out there and participating in the healing process through lending a hand, donations of the spirit and a simple smile changes everything.

To be the change we have to be the change; it doesn’t get much simpler than that.

There is a lot of back peddling (or hypocrisy) happening as well—and that, in my eyes is a good thing. It means loud voices are being heard, people are paying more attention and an out-pouring of love has risen from the ashes (the fallout of the unthinkable).

I bow my head.

Complacency is never motivating, agitation can work either way and compassion for it all has the propensity to heal. It just does.




Photo: source

Editor: Dana Gornall