Sunday musings – The courage of empathy
This Sunday morning, I am back in Florida to take care of some issues related to the sale of the villa I own, but hope to transfer to the new owners soon! Through the magic of the internet and radio I am able to quickly access the weekly podcast of On Being hosted by Krsita Tippett. On November 17, 2016, she had a conversation with Isabel Wilkerson who “won the Pulitzer Prize for her work as Chicago Bureau Chief of The New York Times and was awarded the National Humanities Medal by President Obama in 2016. Her book The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Nonfiction.” (On Being transcript of this conversation). The title of the show is The heart is the last frontier. Ms. Tippett also says of Ms. Wilkerson, “She is herself a product of one of the most under-reported stories of the 20th century which she chronicles — the exodus or Great Migration of 6 million African Americans from the south to the north of the United States.”
Ms. Wilkerson talks of the courage of those traveling hundreds of miles to live and work in places where they were still treated as less than and forced to restrict where they lived and to take out loans which cost more than most of those awarded to non-immigrant families. Her own family history includes stories of this movement of immigration and of those who constantly had to change paths because even if they fought in wars were not allowed to work at their profession, live where they wanted. They were not embraced.
She also talks about not only why this story needs to be told but about how this story of the artificial construct of otherness (my wording) forbids the most needed response of empathy. When talking about the modern-day police killings of black people (or those from whatever race) she talks about the tragedy of the police personnel not kneeling down to take the hand of those who they may have shot – the lack of empathy.
As we know empathy is not pity and it is not concerned with measuring who was right or wrong. It is a recognition that we are of the same family including the circumstance of what thoughts we have brought each of us to this place together. We need to grieve with each other when one of us is hurt or, God forbid, killed.
I have to admit that Ms. Wilkerson’s book is one more I have missed knowing about or reading. In fact, I had never heard of Ms. Wilkerson. Despite my attempts to connect with spiritual teachers I miss many. Thanks to Ms. Tippett and others I am able to meet a few of those I miss. Due to the magic of the internet and Amazon with one click I will soon have Mr. Wilkerson’s book to read and then to pass on to friends. In the meantime, during this time of Sunday morning musings, I will direct my mind and most importantly my heart to connect with those whom I have shunned, criticized or judged. Sadly, the list, even for a week is long. It seems that many people fell short of my expectations – no, my demands – for how they “should” have acted. They were not as kind, competent, professional, appropriate, spiritual, loving, or even as empathetic as I.
Last week I was visiting family in Oklahoma and Texas. When I arrived the soul of one of my shoes had begun to detach itself. My sister Bonnie lent me gorilla glue to reattach it until I could take the shoe to the wonderful cobbler who makes one pair of shoes new again times many. Sometimes – often - my attachment to withholding the knowledge of the intimacy of my sameness with others – my sensuous, intertwining, emotional and spiritual connection – keeps me from doing my part to acknowledging and tending to the wounds of others and in the process incurring more wounds of my own.
We are all, in some sense, immigrants and we are all those who can welcome the immigrant. The immigrant is, after all, someone who we have decided to think of as different, not belonging or not deserving. Beneath the mask of – not like me – is an exact replica of me.
In this time of political unrest in the United States and many other countries it is time for me to borrow from the courage of my brothers and sisters who left the south of the United States to travel long distances and to finally open my arms to give and receive the welcome which is the first step towards healing.
Healing is the first step of spiritual growth. Spiritual growth on this sabbath morning is the first step of healing.
Thanks Ms. Tippett and Ms. Wilkerson.
Thanks to all the immigrants who came before me.
Written November 20, 2016
This Sunday morning, I am back in Florida to take care of some issues related to the sale of the villa I own, but hope to transfer to the new owners soon! Through the magic of the internet and radio I am able to quickly access the weekly podcast of On Being hosted by Krsita Tippett. On November 17, 2016, she had a conversation with Isabel Wilkerson who “won the Pulitzer Prize for her work as Chicago Bureau Chief of The New York Times and was awarded the National Humanities Medal by President Obama in 2016. Her book The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Nonfiction.” (On Being transcript of this conversation). The title of the show is The heart is the last frontier. Ms. Tippett also says of Ms. Wilkerson, “She is herself a product of one of the most under-reported stories of the 20th century which she chronicles — the exodus or Great Migration of 6 million African Americans from the south to the north of the United States.”
Ms. Wilkerson talks of the courage of those traveling hundreds of miles to live and work in places where they were still treated as less than and forced to restrict where they lived and to take out loans which cost more than most of those awarded to non-immigrant families. Her own family history includes stories of this movement of immigration and of those who constantly had to change paths because even if they fought in wars were not allowed to work at their profession, live where they wanted. They were not embraced.
She also talks about not only why this story needs to be told but about how this story of the artificial construct of otherness (my wording) forbids the most needed response of empathy. When talking about the modern-day police killings of black people (or those from whatever race) she talks about the tragedy of the police personnel not kneeling down to take the hand of those who they may have shot – the lack of empathy.
As we know empathy is not pity and it is not concerned with measuring who was right or wrong. It is a recognition that we are of the same family including the circumstance of what thoughts we have brought each of us to this place together. We need to grieve with each other when one of us is hurt or, God forbid, killed.
I have to admit that Ms. Wilkerson’s book is one more I have missed knowing about or reading. In fact, I had never heard of Ms. Wilkerson. Despite my attempts to connect with spiritual teachers I miss many. Thanks to Ms. Tippett and others I am able to meet a few of those I miss. Due to the magic of the internet and Amazon with one click I will soon have Mr. Wilkerson’s book to read and then to pass on to friends. In the meantime, during this time of Sunday morning musings, I will direct my mind and most importantly my heart to connect with those whom I have shunned, criticized or judged. Sadly, the list, even for a week is long. It seems that many people fell short of my expectations – no, my demands – for how they “should” have acted. They were not as kind, competent, professional, appropriate, spiritual, loving, or even as empathetic as I.
Last week I was visiting family in Oklahoma and Texas. When I arrived the soul of one of my shoes had begun to detach itself. My sister Bonnie lent me gorilla glue to reattach it until I could take the shoe to the wonderful cobbler who makes one pair of shoes new again times many. Sometimes – often - my attachment to withholding the knowledge of the intimacy of my sameness with others – my sensuous, intertwining, emotional and spiritual connection – keeps me from doing my part to acknowledging and tending to the wounds of others and in the process incurring more wounds of my own.
We are all, in some sense, immigrants and we are all those who can welcome the immigrant. The immigrant is, after all, someone who we have decided to think of as different, not belonging or not deserving. Beneath the mask of – not like me – is an exact replica of me.
In this time of political unrest in the United States and many other countries it is time for me to borrow from the courage of my brothers and sisters who left the south of the United States to travel long distances and to finally open my arms to give and receive the welcome which is the first step towards healing.
Healing is the first step of spiritual growth. Spiritual growth on this sabbath morning is the first step of healing.
Thanks Ms. Tippett and Ms. Wilkerson.
Thanks to all the immigrants who came before me.
Written November 20, 2016
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