Taking the Plunge

In Zen Peacemakers there's a term used to express stepping into an unknown experience, perhaps of your own accord, or perhaps through happenstance. I had such a stepping-into moment two weeks ago, and I've been mining it ever since. As is my favorite way for a story to unfold—a poem...

Inside A Compass Rose
©April 24, 2024 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

“Israel and Gaza’s war is in my spine,” a loved one says,
describing his blown out back.

Thousands of miles away,
a newborn child is presented to a father to hold.
He rips off his shirt like a stripper,
smiling wider than ever before.
The miracle of a five pound life,
six weeks premature,
moves an ocean of tears to flow
and flow…
baptizing beating hearts,
skin to skin.
Hands longer than the length of baby’s body
cup tiny, curved vertebrae.
Papa drops his head,
whispers to child,
intricately woven.

After all of this, a 90-minute open dialogue—
Jane Hirshfield reading her poetry,
“Let them not say: we did not see it.
We saw.
Let them not say: we did not hear it.
We heard….
Let them not say: they did nothing.
We did not enough.”

I go to class where I teach 19 students
a beautiful and silent language,
American Sign Language.
In the midst of our circle,
a halo of laughter and quiet intimacy,
an unknown young man walks into room’s center,
holding an open laptop computer.
Confused, agitated,
he asks what we know of Pythagorean Theorem.
Hands shocked still, eyes riveted,
the pin drops,
it happens that fast.
I walk toward him, slowly reach out my hand,
touch his open laptop screen, turn him around
and ask, “What do you need help with?”

He shows computer screen: typed profanity,
lines and lines of wing-ding font,
equations in a multitude of colors.
With the other hand on his back, I guide him to the door,
a pungent odor enveloping us.
He asks, now, quietly, “Why is no one answering me?”

I say, “Some are Deaf and don’t hear you.”
Goosebumps cover my whole body—
it’s the truest thing I’ve said all day.
Beneath my hand, tense shoulders relax,
ripple out like water.
“Don’t worry about it then,” he says docilely 
and stumbles away.

Life is lived in the body,
this concise moment is life.

Life wakes us up,
again and again.

Each of us feels the way,
magnetized needle,
pulling in cardinal directions,
inside the circle of a compass rose.

Where are we going?
When I meet you,
may we find our way.

*~^*~^~~*^ *~^*~^~~*^ *~^*~^~~*^

If someone had said I would respond to an incident in the classroom by engaging, touching and guiding the disruptive and confused person out the door, I would have replied, no way. Yet, in the moment, I knew what to do, and, mysteriously, had no fear. I engaged as if it was the most ordinary thing to do. I've taken the moments apart, really wanting to know—what allowed me to be fully present and respond with an unguarded heart?

I've recognized three components. First, I had just participated in a 90 minute offering of poetry and was truly in a place of peace, well-being and beauty. And...three days before, I had been part of a two day retreat offering that was total nourishment. I was still very much in this reality of healing and tenderness. 

Second, the responsibility to my students overrode every other response. In my head, I heard clear as a bell, "He must leave the classroom." I knew we were vulnerably exposed with him in our center and there was no other option. I was responsible, and yet, aren't we, at every moment, responsible for each other? During the disturbance, a few students began to giggle nervously and the young man became increasingly agitated. I made eye contact with them, trying to convey that laughter could escalate the situation. The students read the communication clearly and stopped. We are intricately entwined. We always belong to one another, don't we? In an instant our actions harm, our actions soothe. 

Third, I've been exposed to loved ones struggling to find balance in waves of overwhelming confusion. My heart opened to the man’s suffering, not his chaos, because I’ve been exposed to similar despair in loved ones and those in addiction and recovery. Working in the field, I recognized some signs and symptoms.

Internal well-being, responsibility to protect those in my charge, understanding based on personal experience—these three factors allowed my heart to embrace and not resist the painful situation. Over the last two weeks, I've readjusted my schedule, taken things off my plate and added things that give me nourishment. I've experience the power of responding from a restful place.

I've also added a daily practice of contemplating interconnectedness. It's impossible to be in this world alone, the sufferings and joys of the whole world find us. As mysterious and beautiful life will have it, a loved one reached out during this reflective two weeks, sharing a tremendous mental health challenge—another plunge opportunity. Connecting with my loved one honed and added to my personal experience, challenging me to turn towards whatever arises, to take the plunge and not walk away.