Finding Strength

On those few days when my schadenfreude is at bay, and I've had adequate sleep, and the little voice inside me that says, "You suck, and so does everyone else!" is unaccountably quiet, on those few days other people seem to me so beautiful I sometimes shed tears, or cross the line and exhibit inappropriate enthusiasm for, say, the Native American couple, or the aging Hippie with his gray ponytail and whiskers who still smells of patchouli oil, or the older middle aged woman with the alcoholic face, or the freakishly cute baby in the shopping cart enduring her beautiful mother's trip to the store. Nothing wrong with shedding tears or exuding appreciation, unless you are scanning groceries and having to keep pace with the long lines of customers and keep your tears and snot off of their consumables. But if only I knew the formula for feeling this way . . . I'd adhere to whatever regimen it required, or down whatever pill necessary. I hear the drug ecstasy has some such effect. If it does, I'd like to try it. I've read that the drug, like LSD, shows great promise in the treatment of chronic depression.

It is a kind of manic state, to be sure, but it sure beats the other end of the pole, those days when everyone and everything seems hopeless, but no more hopeless than myself. Days when, not the beauty, but the burden, the sad story, the sorrow and regrets that people bear seem etched into their faces and infused into the very atmosphere of the store. On those days I'm almost blind to beauty, and have to insist to myself that it's still there, somewhere. I scan groceries like a machine and have to force a smile. But I don't believe it, nor do les miserables whose groceries I scan. What is it? The air pressure? Some kind of common psychic burden? But even on the worst days there will be one or two bright lights who smile by nature, and whose eyes seem like windows into deep and loving souls. They serve to remind me that the other side of this pole still exists. Maybe they're on ecstasy, but I am grateful for them.

Here's how I try to handle all of this. On my bad days I do everything I can to limit the damage: practice restraint, get quiet, and actively fight the temptation to give into the negativity, though the best I can usually do is battle it to a draw. Here's one thing I often do that might seem strange, but it helps a lot: There is a wonderful scene in the brilliant movie Whale Rider where it becomes plain, that through the efforts an extraordinary young girl and her grandfather, the young Maori men of their village have regained self-respect and their sense of identity as a tribe. They are tattooed and painted up, wearing traditional garb, and doing a traditional Haka dance* on the beach. They are chanting in unison, slapping their chests, stomping their feet, striking fierce poses, and sticking out their tongues in a show of pride, unity, and inner power. Whereas they once probably performed this ritual before physical enemies, that are now doing it as a show of determined defiance against their spiritual enemies: addiction, westernization, apathy, and the loss of tribal identity. This extraordinarily beautiful scene occurs near the end of the movie, and made me, and I'm sure many others, cry. Almost immediately after seeing this I adopted the practice as defiance against my spiritual enemies: hopelessness, depression, loss, self-loathing--the usual bullshit. Sometimes I perform it physically, sometimes just in my imagination. It genuinely gives me strength to proceed into my day, or through a trial. I also recall the last scene of the musical Don Quixote, where Don Quixote is roused back into his heroic marshal spirit by a visit to his death bed from Aldonza the prostitute, to whom he had returned dignity and renamed Dulcinea, In a reprise of the beautiful song (give the download a minute) he had earlier sung to her, she reminds him of his love, strength, and heroism, however misguided. He then reprises the "I Am I" song, before dying--defiance to the end. Another song that declares victory over despair is Lord of the Dance--the old Shaker melody as much as the words. The writer, Sydney Carter, was inspired by the life of Jesus and a statue of Shiva as Nataraja to write his joyful and powerful lyric.

These are the kinds of things that keep me going. I find them irresistible. Maybe they will resonate with you. They rouse my strength when I don't believe I have any. Our strength comes from within us. It's our duty to find ways to access it, to rouse it through whatever means we can, for love acts from strength, self-discipline and joy come from strength, and the will to go on, to create, and to repair the world, come from strength.

*(begins at about 3:45)