Be safe now

When I was a kid, my grandfather was my hero. And just before he died, my sister sent me a video message from his hospital bed. He was in a lot of pain, essentially dying from sepsis right before her very eyes. In a delusion, he was "talking to me" and she wanted to capture it on camera. I confess I never actually watched the video. I couldn't bear it. But my sister, conveyed that he was going on about his reluctance "at being someone's hero".

It's several years later and if Gramp were alive, he wouldn't know me. He wouldn't understand what I've become, and how love has taken over my life. I have to let go of a lot of the "wishing [they] understood" in order to be as big as I'm called to be, but there is one thing I'd like "them" to know: I'm safe.

I say that, because as a young adult I visited my grandparents a lot, and when I was grabbing my keys to leave their tiny little house on Park Lane, Gramp would always be sure to say, "Ok Michael, be safe now." (I've since changed my name in converting).

What a wish for someone. To wish them safety. I didn't realize, at the time, how much a role safety plays in a healthy life. I do now.

As a psychology nerd, it's become more and more apparent to me to step back and look at general themes more than specific events. I sometimes think of it like surfing. A good surfer (presumably...I've never tried, but I'm obsessed with Eddie Vedder, so...) doesn't just see their board, or their wave. They see the movement of the ocean as a whole, helping them sort of make spur-of-the-moment decisions about where to apply pressure, where to try and go.

That's the kind of vision that I'm practicing these days. Reading the entire environment. And there is one thing that keeps popping up among the waves: the need for safety. In counseling school, we're learning a lot of techniques and theories, but when I hold them at arms length, I can see that they are all directed toward one end: creating safety for someone who doesn't have any so that they can lean into their fears.

When we look around at the world, and we see the rampant injustice (more on this in a future blog post) around us, the humanness in our individual bodies reacts. Some of us have developed a feeling of empathy and desire to help. And some of us can't look, turning our attentions to something else (probably a screen).

Why is that? Why do some of us have the ability to look horror in the eye and say, "Oh hell no," while others say, "Not my problem"? The obvious answer is that some of us have empathy and some of us don't. But that answer probably leaves you feeling empty. I, for one, need to know why.

When I start to peel back the layers of why someone (or large groups of people with red hats) lack empathy, the answer becomes easy. It's specifically because it's unsafe to feel. It's unsafe to make yourself vulnerable enough to feel something as difficult as injustice should feel. It's easier and safer to harden yourself and distance yourself from the very vulnerability that makes you human. And to compound the issue, there's a greater safety in knowing that you're part of a clique that feels vulnerability is weak (a notion we've long past debunked). It doesn't take long to start to understand why these folks arm themselves (figuratively and literally) against the idea of softening.

This is just one example of how hardening disconnects us from the whole. And it is easy to see the problems we create for all of mankind when we approach our interaction with the world in this way. So what's the remedy?

I'm known among my friends and acquaintances for being a soft and squishy type, and I have lots of my own partially-healed trauma around that. But one of the things about it that is not traumatic is how loving and peaceful I generally feel on a day-to-day basis. I started JOY FARM because I recognized we need a place for softening. Sure, it's good for me and it's the ideal space for me to make my art and counsel careers happen. But moreover, it's a place where we can connect and explore becoming vulnerable with intention.

As a buddhist householder, I haven't taken vows. But there is one I'm committed to, regardless of it's official nature. It's a vow to provide safety to anyone who seeks it. I hope -- whether you can ever be at JOY FARM physically or not -- you will know that this is a place/I am a person that provides you that. If you do get the chance to be here in person, I think you'll feel that. This little house has that kind of magic, and I call myself The Steward here because it's not my magic. It's just up to me to pass it along...to direct it in the right directions like those surfers do.

When you inevitably have to leave to go out into the world and do your own work of softening, you'll hear me giving you the last parting advice I have. "Be safe now!"

Namaste