Witnessing
Over the arc of our lives, we will inevitably witness many things. Think of when we hear stories of people who are well into their 90s and maybe even a centenarian — the first thought is often, “Wow, imagine all that they have seen in their lifetime.” To witness, to remember — that is the stuff of living. The joy, the sorrow; the highs and the lows of our own stories and the collective history weaving its tale with us.
I have thought about what it means to witness for some time now and have been enjoying the perspective and art that Dylan McGarry (above) has been producing. It’s so easy to feel helpless, to ourselves and the world around us, as we look at mass cruelty, devastation, and suffering from a distance while also trying to tend to the mundane choices we must all make in order to live and be well within our own bodies and mind. I’ve said it many times to close friends: We’re not meant to witness this much suffering for which we can do very little. Not at the rate and speed of which it is coming through our tiny screens as we sit alone, isolated, taking in the terror. And yet, us witnessing is doing something. As McGarry’s art powerfully conveys, witnessing and speaking out let’s people know we are with them. That we did not go silently into the night, blindfolded and ears covered. We see, we acknowledge, we listen, and we let it be known.
And, I cannot emphasize this enough, we must witness ourselves, too. To be able to acknowledge our own suffering allows us to acknowledge the suffering of others. To bear witness to our range of experiences allows us to move forward and continue healing. When we can accept our full range, we have more compassion for our inner world and thus the outer world, too. The cruelty of your inner critic that overlaps with the joy at feeling the sunshine on your eyelids during a midday break — it’s all you. Witnessing keeps us alive to our humanity and the humanity of others. It does not allow us to look away, sweep under the rug, or pretend. It asks for our presence. Our attention. Our care. It is a courageous act.
I do believe in the power of “being with," of you being with you in a deeply present way, and those we invite in to witness with us. Of beholding others with care and attention. I believe in the power of us choosing transformation, even if it’s little by little, even if we slide backwards and forwards in the process. I believe that translates to how we see and hold one another, and that it ripples out into the collective. I believe it is a way we keep despair at bay and tend to what hurts when we don’t know what else to do.
I am not one to pray, but I am praying these days. Not to a god, but to the humanity of others to end the suffering we are seeing in Gaza and here at home. To see more people turning inward, towards themselves and their own suffering so it is not imprinted on the bodies of others.
With you,
Jesse