Vulnerability, Not Politics

05/08/2020

There is an active peace, patience and suffering to the practices of Ramadan and yoga. A conscious will to experience discomfort now for the growth it promotes later. A realization that we have found ourselves in a world where people actively build walls to persuade comfort to stay longer than it is actually healthy for the self, soul and spirit...and to dissuade anything unpredictable or seemingly antithetical to "the system", including self-awareness.

I find myself reminded of this throughout life, though the aperture widens during Ramadan, where the fast promotes a fraying of physical and emotional stability that can be equivalent to pruning a branch, or burning a patch of land: it may hurt the object in the moment, but the system resolves to heal and grow and ultimately becomes stronger.

And of course, the reality is many people live pruned and burned every day WITHOUT the opportunity to grow against the simplest of needs. Like American minorities, who we read about and in many cases scroll over every day. 

Earlier this week, I found myself almost totally disassociated from the world. In particular, I felt lost watching the stark and surreal dichotomy - actions, reactions, coverage, outreach, opinions, blessings, anger, racism - between a black man who was killed for essentially existing and a white woman who stood against common sense and has since raised $500k on a GoFundMe page. She can feed her kids now. Ahmaud's parents lost a kid forever. This persistent inequity - though only superficially investigated and understood in this juxtaposed example - makes me well with rage and sadness. Acute ignorance and systemic hatred simply cannot be pre-determined, right?

So I went to the neighborhood QuickTrip (gas station like Wawa for you east coasters), bought some water and snacks, and went looking for people to serve in the hopes I could satiate my thirst to impact the less fortunate and find center in that way. I encountered three different experiences:

The first was a white man, encouraged enough by my outreach to converse for a spell and offer to help me the next time I went in search of those who also needed. I felt cautious about his offer. Was this a ruse?

The second was a hispanic man, tattoos, gold tooth and tattered white tee. He asked me for a lighter and I responded with water and a power bar. He accepted my offerings with a slight acknowledgment and immediately walked away. I felt slighted by his ambivalence. Was my charity inutile?

The third was a black woman who sat in the shade near a bus stop on 15th. She had some supplies, decent clothing and a worn, worried look on her face as I approached. She politely declined my offer twice. I felt rebuffed by her rejection. Was my outreach offensive?

And that's when I re-realized my own vanity...the idea that I NEEDED to find people to help because I was in a position to do so. That I felt the way I did in each interaction, and tripped into automatic judgment based on the "book cover." That each of these HUMANS had unique experiences I may never understand. That being born into the right or wrong family, zip code or skin tone shouldn't matter because I was doing something good, and that should be received absolutely.

The reality is: I do not know any of those people and what they have really been through. This general "unknowing" has energized my journey to active empathy, a discipline often lost in the throes of consumerism, statistics and political polarization. But it has also humbled me against a false hypothesis: that because I seek to know you, I will  know the entire depth of who you are.

Still, I endeavor to know you all, and this world, and to connect spirits alike. And when I do trip, I expect lessons immediately given if not immediately received, reflected upon and relished. Ismael Bin Wilyam gave me the gift of a lesson in January, but I wasn't ready for it then. I owe you reflection and response for your kindness, habibi.