Walking the Razor's Edge

"Instead of making others right or wrong, or bottling up right and wrong in ourselves, there’s a middle way, a very powerful middle way. We could see it as sitting on the razor’s edge, not falling off to the right or the left. This middle way involves not hanging on to our version so tightly. It involves keeping our hearts and minds open long enough to entertain the idea that when we make things wrong, we do it out of a desire to obtain some kind of ground or security. Equally, when we make things right, we are still trying to obtain some kind of ground or security. Could our minds and our hearts be big enough just to hang out in that space where we’re not entirely certain about who’s right and who’s wrong? Could we have no agenda when we walk into a room with another person, not know what to say, not make that person wrong or right? Could we see, hear, feel other people as they really are? It is powerful to practise this way, because we’ll find ourselves continually rushing around to try to feel secure again—to make ourselves or them either right or wrong. But true communication can happen only in that open space."

– Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart (p. 83)

Walking the razor's edge is a dangerous game. It is to walk in a world composed of shades of gray. Nothing exists in black and white. There is no right or wrong. Things are blurry, indistinct. The razor's edge is a place for curiosity, questioning, and listening. If you can walk the razor's edge you open up a whole new world of compassion and kindness. 

But the razor's edge is not an easy walk. It is not for the faint of heart. Poised so delicately between worlds. The slightest misstep can send you ass over tea kettle, tumbling out of the world of gray and into black and white, right and wrong.  A world of judgement.  A world of blame and recriminations.  A world of guilt and fear. 

It's easier to pick a side, to stand in judgement.

I am right. You are wrong. 

I am good. You are bad. 

I am the hero. You are the villain. 

I deserve love. You are unworthy. 

Pick a side. Politics and religion. Us against them. Fight for what is right. The world we live in demands it of us. It is exhausting. But easier than the alternative. The razor's edge. 

Walking in the gray where I am not right and neither are you, we are both just here, trying our best. 

The razor's edge, where there is no guilt or blame. 

The razor's edge where our hearts are left open and minds are curious. 

This beautiful world made of shades of gray. 

Tiptoeing gracefully along the razor's edge,  arms outstretched, dipping and swaying I attempt to keep my balance. Like an exquisite dance, leaning to one side, then the other, constantly reminding myself to keep my heart open, keep my mind curious, keep my thoughts light.

And then I fall. 

Off the razor's edge, landing in a mess. 

Sobbing and screaming and vomiting. 

Covered in my own shame and self-loathing. 

Drowning in guilt. 

Hurling blame. 

Look at me! Do it my way. Let me be right so I can feel something solid and stable under my feet. Please let me be the one that stands in the light for just a little while. Fear builds a cage around my heart. My mind locked up tight behind an impenetrable fortress. 

I am right.  You are wrong. 

I am good. You are bad. 

I am the hero. You are the villain. 

I deserve love. You are unworthy. 

My pleadings beat against your closed mind. My sobs fall on deaf ears. Locked in your own world of darkness. Sure that you are right and I am wrong. You are willing to be the villain. You can drown in your own guilt and recriminations. While we are a million miles apart, together we sink. 

My Soul is Weary

Can we just take a break for a minute? Press pause. My heart hurts and my soul is weary. I need a moment. 

Pandemics and politics and war. Oh my! 

The price of gas. 

The price of oil. 

Wear a mask. 

Unmask our children. 

Get vaccinated. Or don't. 

Get a booster. Or not. 

Numbers are rising. People are dying. 

It's all a scam. A plot! 

Stay home. Get your work done. 

Get tested. Bring your vaccine card. 

Close the border. Open the border. 

Protest!

This means war. Say a prayer. 

Black lives matter. All lives matter. 

Police brutality. White privilege. 

Ban abortions. Women get to choose. 

Pronouns and deadnames.

Watch the news. Fact check everything. 

Tip your server. Raise minimum wage. 

A war on drugs. Legalize weed. 

Kill shelters. Rescue a pet. 

Straws kill turtles. 

Save the whales. 

Don't pollute. Pick up trash. 

Paper or plastic. 

Save the environment.  

Stay connected.  Put down your device.

It never ends. 

It is exhausting. 

I'd do the right thing, if only I could figure out what that is. 

On top of that, there are car accidents and cancer diagnoses. There is infertility and miscarriages. Death and divorce. Homelessness. Unemployment. People get raped. Children get beaten. Substance use swallows families whole. 

For some people just making it through the day takes every bit of strength they have got. 

Can we take a break, just for a minute?

Can we turn off the TV, put down our device and sit in silence? 

Can we take a deep breath? 

Can we rock a baby? 

Or hug a friend? 

Can we go for a walk in the woods holding hands? 

Can we sit in the sun and listen to the birds?

Can we be still and drink a cup of tea? 

Can we just breathe for a minute? 

Can we put down our fear for a moment?

Can we suspend judgement? 

Can we hold each other gently and extend compassion? 

My heart hurts. 

My soul is weary. 

Let's just stop for a moment and rest. 

I Thought We Had More Time

There is a screaming in my head that won't stop. "I thought we had more time." It flaps and flutters round and round, like a bird trapped in a room banging against walls and windows until it collapses exhausted in a trembling heap. 

Sometimes life comes at you hard.  Friends die. Children get sick. Teenagers crash their car in the night. There are work deadlines, school deadlines, house chores. Someone always demanding just a little bit more. Stretching you to your limit. Move faster. Do more.  And then a kitten dies.  

Sometimes, for no good reason, a kitten dies. Or a friend. Or a child. Or a spouse. Sometimes, life ends when you don't want it to, when you weren't ready. And the screaming in my head says "but I thought we had more time." 

A tiny kitten, that is soft and rumbles when you pet it, that doesn't feel like death, like endings. It feels like love.  It feels like hope. You stand, there while the vet says "sometimes this happens, for no reason." Followed by "there's nothing more we can do." Then you hold a warm, soft, purring body, while also holding your crying daughter and the screaming beats inside my head "but I thought we had more time."

You go about your day. You do the right thing. You plaster a smile on your face. Check the boxes. Meet the deadlines. Cook the dinner. Here, there and everywhere. Everyone taking their little piece of me. 

Inside my head, the screams don't stop, fluttering and banging, round and round. Until I collapse in a trembling heap, exhausted. I hold a purring kitten while tears roll down my face. 

"I thought we had more time!"