Brexit & recalling a trapped man

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A kind, raw-hearted man entered my work a while back  (a church not far from the White House). He asked for information about good shelters in the area, and if we could sit together in the chapel for a while.

We sat in quiet some minutes before he shared he’d been hiding in a locked bathroom. His lover in a violent rage had beat him before he was able to scramble to the restroom where he locked himself in; meanwhile his partner attempted to break the bathroom door down off and on for about 48 hours. Eventually the threatening partner gave up and left. So this guy now in the chapel was at least out of immediate harm seeking shelter someplace else.

That’s all I know about that man back then and his vulnerable crossroads toward safer ground. In my imaginings since, I pretend (hope?) the start of his once beloved relationship held some kind of shared appreciation of rights — right to breathe, right to breathe in safety, a right to simply live in a space together, both aware of life’s unforgiving spikes (but as aware that each qualified for safety amidst the turbulence, an equal capacity of deservedness).

Who knows what triggered the violent partner. Did the straining complexity of life spark an evilness within him? Did a tidal wave of vulnerability or sensed lack of control press his weaker side into dominance and cruelty?

I just don’t know.

Something about the recent Brexit vote brings all this envisioning of that weary man to mind again, and his primal run for safety.

It is reasonable to say we as humans in general want to live a safe life. We want to live with loved ones in the framework of safe shelter, safe day to day experience, safe access to food and rest. It’s reasonable to say that’s what Britons want.

It’s reasonable to say that’s what immigrants want also. Immigrants are fleeing for new lands to find new space for safer ground. They are running from violent threats, from lack, from fear, escaping from horrific deficits of safety.

Given this common yearning for safe places, it appears Britons with the Brexit vote have met the immigrant flight from fear with fear itself.

There are many political and economic layers to Brexit and the EU that are in play here too; I respect this and am no expert on all of those dynamics. As it relates to immigration though, I keep comparing Brexit with the threatened man on the run long ago, arriving bewildered at the chapel.

I equate it to this “what if…?” possibility:

It’s as if when the fleeing man knocked at the church’s door back then, colleagues and I locked the doors and then our neighbor’s doors and the doors to potential shelters just to preserve our own territorial comfort. It’s as if back then we even may have slipped out from behind those chapel doors, let the fearful man in for a few minutes, then kicked him out letting the huge bolts of once welcoming safe, oak chambers clamp shut in his face.

It is as if back then we grew childishly discontent from the inherent civility and organizational energy required to share; …..so we elevated our desire for comfort above his primal need for safety. Our comfort then would have arrived at the expense of his basic need.

Brexit smacks of this fear and entitlement.

 

Ego trips & realness

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I can’t get enough of this recent line of questioning by Bishop Palmer at Portland’s General Conference of the United Methodist Church:

“Do our relationships lack the kind of depth that engenders real growth, change and transformation? Is it too hard for us to get real with one another because we lack the spiritual and emotional infrastructure to thrive in the midst of realness?”

His words kept ricocheting in that part of the brain that goes “hmmm, hmmmm” over and over when mentally chewing on a thought. The context of his remarks were intended for world leaders and voting delegates of the Methodist faith. But when he first posed these questions in his address, my head went straight to the precious & active relationships in my own life.

A good chunk of valuable relationships could be more real, and made so I think with my increased inner stamina. There have been a ton of times including in my marriage where a chance to be honest would be skimmed over or rebelled against completely.

…Not sure why except it seems to have something to do with all the raw, vulnerable feelings that owning the truth churns up.

My husband sometimes will justly say “Hey you’re grumpy.” And then I get my back up and defensive at his truth telling. Why the heck why? Is it a strange hidden ego trip floating around inside….that “lacks spiritual & emotional infrastructure” to hear truths on how I affect him?

If so, that looks like some juicy rebellion against self-acceptance right there….that ignoble affliction called ‘holier-than-thou’ ….which is a little sad, but fixable (fingers crossed).

Sometimes the truth in realness gashes self perception I guess! But when healing sets, what felt like a stinging void is now a hopeful chamber inside, a carved seat of cherubic protection that’s more willing to let others in.

 

 

Rebounding from scorn: a quick memory

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We didn’t see scorn coming…

Years ago at a conference, our chummy DC contingent of friends strolled a town south by southwestern sun. Conversation bulged with laughter and rainbows of perspective.

An uninvited passerby neared our group, his kindness bricked far beneath. He then flared a one-word insult in sneer + racial hate.

“For real?!” …our slim response blended with surprise and then disregard.

Strolling began anew with collective mood well-cobbled in mirth and free spirits.