Love Strikes Back

In my mind's eye, one thing I often do is zoom out. I close my eyes, and like Google Earth, I start where I am and move outward.

First, I see our neighborhood, with its densely packed blocks and tree-lined streets. Then, I start to see the Detroit River and the border with Canada, and then the Mitten of Michigan. Soon, North America vanishes into the blue marble of the Earth.

And then, in my mind, I hit a galactic speed and imagine the spiral of the Milky Way, whirling about in front of me. Then our galaxy disappears and becomes a mere point of light, and all of a sudden, what I see in my mind's eye is the totality of the known universe spun in time. I am seeing every tiny thing that has ever lived or ever will live.

When I snap back and open my eyes, the same feeling and conclusion always come to me: we are all on the same team.

But with the widened perspective gifted to me by my mind's eye, the "we" does not just encompass my community, or even just the human race. It's bigger. This view is even broader than our Earth and the tiny planets of our galaxy. This “we” is every tiny, living thing, anywhere in the universe.

I have not encountered any living thing beyond the atmosphere of our pale blue dot. But I feel the faintest, yet enduring, unity with everything, everywhere. Because I cannot believe anything other than that every living thing in the universe shares one common conviction: that we want to live. And that common, universal belief—the desire to live—gives us common ground and puts us on the same team, even if only with the most delicate of adhesions.

As hopeful as this wider aperture makes me, I also weep from it. Because, at times, the world seems cruel and it seems as if nobody on Earth feels a common bond with any other living thing. Not a human, not a plant, nor an animal, let alone the life that may exist beyond our solar system.

There are even some people on this planet who do not even act as if their spouses or children are on the same team as them. Some even seem to deliberately generate distrust and sabotage any attempt at fellowship so they may profit from it. How could anyone choose to profit from breaking bonds of fellowship?

I think in the way our good Uncle Shakespeare put it in Sonnet 65: "How with all this rage shall beauty hold a plea, whose action is no stronger than a flower?"

The Battle

Our hearts have an aperture, just like our eyes. As the rage and cruelty around us intensify, the reflex of this aperture is to close, shielding ourselves from the siege and battery of the universe around us.

But the aperture can also do the opposite, open and widen so that we—the souls we are—can join with the universe around us, shining our love outward and allowing the light of others to come through the pupil and back to us.

Many days, I feel like I am losing the battle for this aperture. Like I am one man, struggling to keep my heart open; trying my best to be a good guy in a stressed out world, as I often say.

And yet, so many days I can’t get through the day without yelling at my kids or I feel the grip of greed and the addiction of ego. My heart closing with every swipe or scroll on my phone or fiscal year that passes.

I am at my most despondent, my absolute saddest, when I am losing the battle for my own heart and I know it. I want so badly to not let the rage out there win, but I so often feel and worry that it is.

Sometimes, even on the hardest days, I start to think about forfeiting and make excuses to relieve myself of this battle. I lie to myself with thoughts like, 'If I sell out and play the game, I'm just doing what everyone else is doing,' or 'There's no way but to fight fire with fire,' or, 'This is how the world works, it is what it is,' or worst 'I need to look out for myself…for the family,'" When these inner monologues hit, I come close to shutting the aperture of my heart—very close.

If you've lived a life like mine, and maybe even if you haven't, you're likely also battling for the aperture your own heart, trying to stand pat and stand gracefully, juxtaposing yourself with the seemingly endless supply of rage and cruelty around us. I think there may be tens of millions of us, battling in this way, quietly. Maybe you also come close to forfeiting sometimes.

But I always seems to get a reminder when I need one—to keep battling—maybe you do too.

Like today, I had a sudden urge to listen to this song, “Joe”, which is the story of an alcoholic who is trying and struggling to say sober…and he’s doing it. The song, as far as I can tell, is fictitious, but it still reminds me: there are others fighting for their own hearts—and winning.

The grace of being forgiven, reminds me too, to keep battling.

If I can blow my top and my sons still forgive me and show it by bringing me a paper to make a plane out of, asking me to play soccer, or offering me one of their grapes as a sign of peace—how can I not keep trying? The grace and forgiveness out of my own sons, who I have wronged, redeems me.

The is the story of the ages, it seems. We try to live, meet our crucible, and we come close to giving up our light. But then, we meet our Mentor, or someone finds love for us and catches us before the citadel in our hearts falls. And then, we find redemption and persist on our quest. Love, it seems, finds a way to strike back.

I honestly wrote this because I have been frayed at all ends and have felt my heart closing. For me, writing is a way to force, even if only slightly, the aperture of my heart back open. When my heart needs to open, I suppose this is what comes out of it.

I don’t have a pithy, triumphant conclusion to this essay. If I had to feign one because it makes for better reading—I’d be lying.

If you’re still reading this, something about this probably resonated with you, you may even be battling for the aperture of your own heart right now. Maybe, even, you feel like you are losing the battle.

That place, feels so lonely. The world we live in is so centered around projecting control and “with-it-ness” it doesn’t feel possible that anyone else is engaged in such a struggle. The battlefield for our hearts feels so lonely - like it’s us against the cruelty and rage of the whole world.

If nothing else, I hope this essay is proof that it’s not.There are so many of us battling to keep widening and opening the aperture of our own hearts.

Despite all this rage, beauty does hold a plea. Because love finds a way to remind us what we are fighting for and that we can win.

When rage and cruelty threaten, love strikes back.

In my mind's eye, one thing I often do is zoom out. I close my eyes, and like Google Earth, I start where I am and move outward.

First, I see our neighborhood, with its densely packed blocks and tree-lined streets. Then, I start to see the Detroit River and the border with Canada, and then the Mitten of Michigan. Soon, North America vanishes into the blue marble of the Earth.

And then, in my mind, I hit a galactic speed and imagine the spiral of the Milky Way, whirling about in front of me. Then our galaxy disappears and becomes a mere point of light, and all of a sudden, what I see in my mind's eye is the totality of the known universe spun in time. I am seeing every tiny thing that has ever lived or ever will live.

When I snap back and open my eyes, the same feeling and conclusion always come to me: we are all on the same team.

But with the widened perspective gifted to me by my mind's eye, the "we" does not just encompass my community, or even just the human race. It's bigger. This view is even broader than our Earth and the tiny planets of our galaxy. This “we” is every tiny, living thing, anywhere in the universe.

I have not encountered any living thing beyond the atmosphere of our pale blue dot. But I feel the faintest, yet enduring, unity with everything, everywhere. Because I cannot believe anything other than that every living thing in the universe shares one common conviction: that we want to live. And that common, universal belief—the desire to live—gives us common ground and puts us on the same team, even if only with the most delicate of adhesions.

As hopeful as this wider aperture makes me, I also weep from it. Because, at times, the world seems cruel and it seems as if nobody on Earth feels a common bond with any other living thing. Not a human, not a plant, nor an animal, let alone the life that may exist beyond our solar system.

There are even some people on this planet who do not even act as if their spouses or children are on the same team as them. Some even seem to deliberately generate distrust and sabotage any attempt at fellowship so they may profit from it. How could anyone choose to profit from breaking bonds of fellowship?

I think in the way our good Uncle Shakespeare put it in Sonnet 65: "How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, whose action is no stronger than a flower?"

The Battle

Our hearts have an aperture, just like our eyes. As the rage and cruelty around us intensify, the reflex of this aperture is to close, shielding ourselves from the siege and battery of the universe around us.

But the aperture can also do the opposite, open and widen so that we—the souls we are—can join with the universe around us, shining our love outward and allowing the light of others to come through the pupil and back to us.

Many days, I feel like I am losing the battle for this aperture. Like I am one man, struggling to keep my heart open; trying my best to be a good guy in a stressed-out world, as I often say.

And yet, so many days I can’t get through the day without yelling at my kids, or I feel the grip of greed and the addiction of ego. My heart closing with every swipe or scroll on my phone or fiscal year that passes.

I am at my most despondent, my absolute saddest, when I am losing the battle for my own heart and I know it. I want so badly to not let the rage out there win, but I so often feel and worry that it is.

Sometimes, even on the hardest days, I start to think about forfeiting and make excuses to relieve myself of this battle. I lie to myself with thoughts like, 'If I sell out and play the game, I'm just doing what everyone else is doing,' or 'There's no way but to fight fire with fire,' or, 'This is how the world works, it is what it is,' or worst, 'I need to look out for myself…for the family.' When these inner monologues hit, I come close to shutting the aperture of my heart—very close.

If you've lived a life like mine, and maybe even if you haven't, you're likely also battling for the aperture of your own heart, trying to stand pat and stand gracefully, juxtaposing yourself with the seemingly endless supply of rage and cruelty around us. I think there may be tens of millions of us, battling in this way, quietly. Maybe you also come close to forfeiting sometimes.

But I always seem to get a reminder when I need one—to keep battling—maybe you do too.

Like today, I had a sudden urge to listen to this song, “Joe”, which is the story of an alcoholic who is trying and struggling to stay sober…and he’s doing it. The song, as far as I can tell, is fictitious, but it still reminds me: there are others fighting for their own hearts—and winning.

The grace of being forgiven, reminds me too, to keep battling.

If I can blow my top and my sons still forgive me and show it by bringing me a paper to make a plane out of, asking me to play soccer, or offering me one of their grapes as a sign of peace—how can I not keep trying? The grace and forgiveness of my own sons, who I have wronged, redeems me.

This is the story of the ages, it seems. We try to live, meet our crucible, and we come close to giving up our light. But then, we meet our Mentor, or someone finds love for us and catches us before the citadel in our hearts falls. And then, we find redemption and persist on our quest. Love, it seems, finds a way to strike back.

I honestly wrote this because I have been frayed at all ends and have felt my heart closing. For me, writing is a way to force, even if only slightly, the aperture of my heart back open. When my heart needs to open, I suppose this is what comes out of it.

I don’t have a pithy, triumphant conclusion to this essay. If I had to feign one because it makes for better reading—I’d be lying.

If you’re still reading this, something about this probably resonated with you; you may even be battling for the aperture of your own heart right now. Maybe, even, you feel like you are losing the battle.

That place feels so lonely. The world we live in is so centered around projecting control and “with-it-ness” it doesn’t feel possible that anyone else is engaged in such a struggle. The battlefield for our hearts feels so lonely - like it’s us against the cruelty and rage of the whole world.

If nothing else, I hope this essay is proof that it’s not. There are so many of us battling to keep widening and opening the aperture of our own hearts.

Despite all this rage, beauty does hold a plea. Because love finds a way to remind us what we are fighting for and that we can win.

When rage and cruelty threaten, love strikes back.