We absorb the experiences of our life - each day an ever growing body of impressions and memories. Some day - sometimes when we least expect it - something happens that triggers an expulsion of feelings from someplace rooted deep within us. These past few months, but in particular past few weeks, have provided a hot bed for remembrance and realization. An awakening to the times when we, personally and collectively, have looked the other way, resigning ourselves to blindness, shirking responsibility for our fellow beings.
This past Monday evening, as I was leaving the shala to drive downtown to participate in a vigil for black lives, I picked up this sign that my thoughtful, compassionate sister-in-law had made for me (and for her family as well). Then I remembered that the church had printed fliers emblazoned with the hashtag #saytheirname and a list of the many black sisters and brothers who have lost their lives to the systemic racism of violence and aggression imprinted on our collective experience in this life, in particular in this country. I had a thought - to tape this flier to the backside of my sign. Then when I sat down in the grass at the busy intersection near the bustle of Broadway (sometimes referred to as NashVegas) to meditate I looked at the back of the sign and I saw those names before me, something clicked. I began to do japa (repetition of mantra) on their names. It was a powerful experience to absorb.
I am a white man and as such I fully acknowledge the privilege that this outward appearance, that I just happened into, has afforded me. But, I am also a gay man and I have also experienced the stripping away of much of that privilege that happens upon the stroke of coming out. Time and time again, I’ve been treated one way upon meeting someone and seen that shift right before my eyes and ears as soon as they learn that I’m not really one of them. It leaves a bitter, fearful, shaming, isolating hole in the experience of life from the moment one expresses that identity to the world.
Many years ago, a dear friend used to say, when something traumatic happened to one of us due to our gayness, “oh gurl, throw it down the memory hole”. Over time that hole gets pretty full and then when we stop, sit, and be, it opens up and the memories come forth.
None of us should be forced to bury the essences of who we are. We must say their names and offer love, compassion, acceptance, and recognition — again and again — until the hole is empty and closed for good and we can all be FREE.