On Gazing At the Sun During War

Many wars, many minds, many gifts. Yellow Brick Road.

Credit: Ethel Moore

Welcome to Yellow Brick Road, an exploration of the guided path!!

War is declared.

A war stateside against trans children. A war abroad, piling onto the pre-existing imperialist damage in Yemen, Gaza, Iraq, Afghanistan - just to name a few - at the hands of our own. We all have a tendency to seek control in the face of things we fear and things we cannot understand. Control often looks like reaction. I choose to not react. To not react to something I can barely wrap my head and heart around. To not knee-jerk post about global events I never thought I would experience in this lifetime, resulting in death and ruin for so many - myself potentially included.

Ilya Kaminsky @ilya_poet

"It's falling, Mother, snow in Ukraine" --Paul Celan (written in 1943, when Celan learned of the death of his mother in the Nazi camp, it's first time a name of any country enters his poetry. Given our moment, this line rings w/ so many different connotations today.)

I would like to respond to each war, namely the one brewing inside me demanding I surrender to hopelessness. Right now, my response is feverish study and general silence where words cause more harm than good. The impulse to assert self-importance by making hot takes and posting infographics without resources for those impacted most and in greatest suffering is nothing short of sinister, and yet the other choice - the choice to remain silent - seems to be a cop out. I’m learning by the hour - watching influencers, virtue-signalers and journalists grapple to create the most impactful statement in 280 characters - that waiting and creating boundaries with what I’m consuming in the upcoming days is the most ethical choice.

drdevonprice

A post shared by Devon Price (@drdevonprice)

What’s terrifying is how I’m watching civilians in Ukraine being bombed on TikTok, a video app for literal children, and feel a sense of normalcy. Consuming violence first thing in the morning like it’s a bowl of cornflakes. Moments later, I hop on another screen to “circle back” and “follow up” to clients asking me to create TikToks so people forget about a pandemic, war, and suffering long enough to buy skincare. We’re all just doing the best we can to survive - I place no more blame on any individual than I do on myself for participating in it. But I am also challenging myself to do what I think terrifies all of us most; I’m challenging myself to step away.

I’m challenging myself to put down my phone and go for a walk in freezing weather so I can feel like a fucking human again, and allowing myself to believe this act doesn’t make me a callous, selfish monster.

I’m calling myself out on thinking that care need be expressed immediately, as my friend Jezz Chung noted in this post.

jezzchung

A post shared by Jezz Chung 정수지 (@jezzchung)

I’m acknowledging how absolutely heartbroken I am and allowing myself the vulnerability to say that when someone asks.

I’m indulging in what grounds me back into a reality less doomed and damned - art. I intended to just post a poem - a poem I’m sure many of you have seen, but I feel cannot be read enough. My friend Roya, writer at Consumed, posted the very same poem on her newsletter yesterday and I consider it a sign. In the opening poem to Deaf Republic, Ilya Kaminsky - Ukrainian-American poet born in Odessa - writes from the point of view of someone who is apologetic for their apathy and willful ignorance in a time of destruction.

We Lived Happily During the War

And when they bombed other people’s houses, we

protested

but not enough, we opposed them but not

enough. I was

in my bed, around my bed America

was falling; invisible house by invisible house by invisible house.

I took a chair outside and watched the sun.

In the sixth month

of a disastrous reign in the house of money

in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,

our great country of money, we (forgive us)

lived happily during the war.

Just…wow.

“I took a chair outside and watched the sun.”

This line!!!! It provokes a sense of guilt and shame for gazing up at what’s bright and warm instead of looking around at the harsh realities of both impending and immediate doom because it simply isn’t comfortable.

The question begs to be asked: if we never seek reprieve, how do we avoid burning out?

I am not certain this is the only way or reason one might watch the sun - to avoid truth. I would like to think looking at the sun might be a way for us to illuminate how we as individuals can serve in the good fight. This line, while posing an important connection between fear of confrontation and dying in complacency, consequently considers how we might absorb enough infinite energy to share our unique gifts. A painter doesn’t know how to wield a sword, but knows how to make a grown man cry with the stroke of his brush. Gazing at the sun just might be our opportunity to respond in a way that is authentic, useful, and direct - instead of throwing efforts to a wall and seeing what sticks.

It’s time to find our sword, our brush, our pen. As Mother Toni Morrison once said, “It’s not possible to constantly hold onto crisis.” We need not feel guilty about watching the sun, but we need always be prepared to stand for what’s right when darkness falls. And it’s falling.