action v. balance (orig. Jan 14, 2013)

I do not think that these two are necessarily mutually exclusive or opposed, but I often find myself struggling between the two.

Action. 

The clenching in my gut, the stab to the heart, the fear and the fury that make us squeeze our eyes shut and furrow our brows hard, the rapid pounding in our chests, the wailing in the distance or across the water that makes us snap our heads in that direction, our eyes wide, wondering, scrambling to see if we can do something, anything to calm or eradicate the source of the pain that we empathize with but will never truly know ourselves. It is these sensations and feelings that spur me to action or the need to take action. I often feel and know that I am not doing anywhere near enough, not doing anything. It is not enough to feel sorry, to feel bad, to cry into a pillow at night holding to prayer beads for the well-being and the peace of another. It is not enough. And so we whirl ourselves into action, waving our arms, screaming, running, sprinting, jumping, drawing, writing, speaking, dancing, singing, fighting, hurling ourselves into action as if our lives depend on it. 

And through all of the whirling, the spinning, the reaching, the pushing, the screaming, I at times find myself drained and exhausted and immeasurably sad and miniscule in this world of dark swelling waves that devour innocent people, this life in which there is inevitable loss of life, where the beauty, value, and joy of everything good are measured and detected only by their contrast against the evil, pain, and destruction that we humans seem so set on generating. 

In these moments of feeling so infinitely tiny, I struggle to recover my stance, teetering at the edge of a perspective that once seemed so concrete and justifiably self-righteous.  

Balance. 

So, in the midst of fear and dizziness, I seek fresh air, a deluge of cold water, someone to set me upright and out of my cowering stance, heavy with unproductive thoughts and worries and sorrows and pains of others that I strap onto my own back out of guilt and a feeling of helplessness. It is difficult to relearn to breathe, to learn once again how to sleep, to draw our shoulders down from our ears, to keep our eyes directed forwards and stop them from darting around a room like skittish insects in the night. And in centering myself, I find my gaze turn inwards, losing my place in the hurry and the bustle of the things happening around me. 

“You will find that it is necessary to let things go, simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.” ― C. JoyBell C.

But is it selfish to turn inwards? To let things go because they are heavy? To close my eyes and focus on the sound and depth of my breaths because I cannot swallow or stomach the terror and the gravity and the breadth of all there is in the world to change and solve and fix and question? Is it selfish?

After all, they do say that you have to be healthy yourself, help yourself, be well yourself, before you can help any other person, thing, anything get better. But is that true? 

I meditate and pray for peace and solace. I try to wish away the murmurs in my heart and the endless connections and complications in my mind that leave me feeling so weary and tiny in the evenings. But it only leaves me feeling selfish, inadequate, petty, and wrong. 

If someone could tell me how to forge ahead while standing tall, open my eyes without blurring my vision with hot tears, understand without then cowering under the heavy burden of new truths or knowledge, if someone could tell me how to act while maintaining balance...