The Day My Compassion Failed

I hold compassion as the greatest of all virtues. It bridges the gap between religions, class, countries. I admire Ghandi, Schindler, Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr., The Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa. You may have noticed that they don't all belong to the same religion or culture, that's because virtues don't belong to any one affiliation. They are a choice and a practice.

I thought I was a pretty compassionate person. I have an active imagination, which I think lends itself to the ability to see life from another's perspective. I imagine how difficult it would be to be homeless, how easy it is to become so. I hurt for those who suffer from cancer, the hungry, the addicted, abused and neglected. I cry when I see images of children who've survived terrors, because when I see them, I can't help but see the face of every child I've ever known. I've never known what it's like to be in these situations, but I can imagine and I'm sure it falls short of the reality. I always root for the underdog.

That being said, it bothers me to admit that my compassion completely failed me recently. Social media has bombarded me with what I initially thought was apathy and hard hearts. Everyone has an opinion on refugees lately. I spent 32 hours completely appalled at social media feeds. Disheartened, sick, fearful. I had to take a harder look at what I was feeling. I know these people. They are kind, they are passionate about causes. But they too, are fearful, whether it is recognized or not. I failed to have compassion, because I saw nothing but unfounded opinion.

I don't have a solution to a refugee crisis, it would be arrogant of me to think I did. This isn't a blog about fixing that particular problem, it's a blog about how I failed to be compassionate. I failed because I allowed my fear to be in control. In the days since, I've identified my fear. I fear a world without compassion. Everyone falls on hard times. My/your beliefs will not spare me/you (no matter what they are). It rains on everyone, bad things happen to good people. A world without compassion is a terrifying thought. Make no mistake. I understand that my own fear is the very same that motivates conflict, and causes panic, hysteria, hate, even war. Fear creates these things. My fear, if fed, would only lend to the problem, not a solution. 

So what will I do about it? I could easily choose to react with apathy, to disregard the opinions I don't agree with in my news feed, affiliate with only those that I agree with. Enforce a greater divide. It would be easy. What is right and what is easy are rarely the same. But I won't. No. I will try to understand the varying opinions. I would only succeed in feeding my own fear if I were to conclude that these reactions come from hard hearts. I will try to have compassion where I haven't before. Compassion for the average person, and for the privileged person. How could they know the hurts of experiences that they could never imagine?

If I say, as I am now, that my driving force is compassion, then I need to make it so. If you say that your driving force is your religion, then extend the accompanying grace. If you say it is a need to take care of your own, no one is stopping you. I have identified my fear. What is yours?

The Pursuit of Peace

At seventeen, I was devastated. Since I was so young, I can't really fathom the impact that must have had on my life. There have been many heart breaks and disappointments between now and then, with plenty of emotional baggage. In attempts to isolate the burdens I've carried with me over the years, I've smeared emotions across canvases, sat with uncomfortable feelings in thought and prayer and meditation, moved in breath and yoga to expel them, written them out, tried to create something tangible from them, so that they are outside of me, no longer in me. I can't measure the weight of the things I've worked through, but I can feel their absence. I do feel lighter. 

As a result of this work, I feel compelled to hear out those who've hurt me. It doesn't happen often, but there have been those who've sought me out. I try, as difficult as it may be, to be gracious. 

I am aware that I may not be able to relate to the how and why of someone else's decisions and actions. I realize that there may have been repercussions, too. Maybe the burden was great. There may have been choices that likely became such huge secrets that they would have made a fulfilling life improbable. Secrecy and regret do not breed authenticity or joy. I try, for the sake of empathy, to see others in the light of humanity. We are all flawed, we are all damaged, we all make bad decisions. What it really comes down to is the pursuit of peace, doesn't it? Reprieve from the burden of guilt, reconciliation with choices made. 

Perhaps I may seem emotionally removed. I've learned that emotional reactions don't serve me well. I'm not going to react with resentment and hostility. While I could have done without disappointments in life, I'm grateful for the experience and the knowledge I've gained. I've learned to be objective, analytical. Perhaps it is self serving on my part, because I don't care for the weight of resentment and anger. If someone comes to me in humility or shame, I can't in good conscience shame them further.

Life is short. Make amends. Let go of what can't be undone. Pursue peace of mind.

Peace Rose