Non-Violence

I’ve been thinking more about the message and work of Martin Luther King since the official holiday a couple of weeks ago. It’s because the world seems so violent to me right now, though I know there is violence happening all the time, woven into the long history of humans human-ing. Sadly, at times I become numb to the violence because it’s so constant. 

But the violence is landing in me differently these days. It’s because I’ve been experiencing a kind of connecting, resonant love in ways I never have before. 

The pictures of Liam Conejo Ramos in his bunny hat and backpack stirred up a lot of reactions for me, and I think for all of us. Even mentioning his name now could send some folks into a range of reactions: anger, compassion, comments, posts, justifying “our side” on immigration policy, urgent need for action, disappointment, confusion, frustration, slinging some blame around, etc. 

And I do believe we all felt sad for Liam. In my first interactions with the story, my mind and body raced in response. In that frenzy, I bypassed the sadness I felt. Until I didn’t. 

Over my breakfast one morning, I was reading the paper a few days after the news broke of Liam, and it had the familiar picture of Liam on the front page with an update on the story. I didn’t even get to the story as I just stared at his picture, once again. It just crushed me. I stared at it longer, and let it continue to crush me. He looked so alone. He reminded me of my own kids at that age, where you just want to scoop them up and squeeze them with a big, safe hug. And, with all that settling in me, I cried, as I often seem to do these days. 

What I didn’t do was go straight to the frenzied reaction. I had stayed with a felt sense of connection to and love for Liam. 

I’m not saying I shouldn’t have a reaction. I’m questioning how I respond, how I move into that reaction. 

That’s where I’ve got a lot to learn from the model of Dr. King and others. MLK’s emphasis on nonviolence, coupled with action, feels increasingly revolutionary to me in that way. It’s powered through love, and not some Hallmark version of love either. 

I’m challenged by Dr. King’s push for nonviolence, which isn’t just about avoiding physical violence - it’s also, critically, avoiding an “internal violence of spirit.”* How often is my reaction to the world’s events coming from an internal violence of spirit rather than a resonant love and sense of inter-connection? Am I experiencing the world as more violent these days because our reaction to the violence is also a form of violence? Are we just layering on more violence?  

That takes me back to my moment over breakfast in connection with Liam. I think that moment to pause is so important. Some stillness. A few deep breaths. A presence to, mindfulness of, and patience with what is moving through us. A prayer. As a previous mentor, Rick, would often say: don’t just do something, sit there.

If we bypass that pause, I think we are bound to act from that internal violence of spirit, adding our suffering to the growing mountain of suffering.** 

My wife and I attended a wonderful Centering Prayer Summit hosted by Closer than Breath a few weekends ago. One of my favorite presenters was Kaira Jewel Lingo, a contemplative teacher who supports compassionate action. She told a remarkable story from her time as a student with Thich Nhat Hanh, the esteemed Buddhist teacher whom MLK nominated for the 1967 Nobel Peace Prize. 

Lingo tells the story of a bus ride she was on with other monastics when the tragic news of September 11th  broke. Naturally, they were heartbroken, afraid and shocked. And they immediately went into preparing statements, press conferences and actions. When they arrived at the monastery that night, they shared their plan with their teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh. He listened, breathed, and said, “No. Tomorrow we go to the beach.” 

To the beach? Seriously?!? 

With the hard-earned wisdom from practice and having faced acute suffering for decades in Vietnam, Thich Nhat Hanh recognized the need for the group to not respond from a place of panic, anger, and fear. Their time at the beach offered the chance to connect with one another, share meals, and rest. From that place of love and presence, the group was able to better respond to 9/11 with clarity, connection, and care. 

This response could be perceived as lacking urgency or lazy. But I was moved by Lingo’s description of the reasoning for pausing and moving from a more grounded stance: “Stillness is not delay. It is preparation.” A preparation to move, not from an internal violence of spirit, but from a place of connectedness and love. 

Making this a habit feels like a lifetime of work for me, and I think that’s the case for most of us. That’s a pretty good argument for meditation, prayer, and/or some practice of contemplation. If we don’t somehow learn to better hold these hard feelings and emotions…to sit with them…they can end up as a noxious, polluted fuel for our response, propelling that internal violence of spirit.

These days, there’s no shortage of things to stoke our outrage and internal violence of spirit. In fact, so many of our information inputs are designed to do just that. Looking back, I can see the many times where I have added my internal violence to the collective violence. I want to do better. 

Thankfully there are teachers we can look to here, like Dr. King and Thich Nhat Hanh. Their examples and teaching remind us why it matters to pause…to be still…to connect to ourselves, to one another, and to that deeper resonance of love…to live into the recognition that there is no other, only us. I think that approach for me, for us, could make a world of difference.

With much love,

Matt

PS...I'm figuring out some of the blog settings as I go here. I think I've fixed it to make it easier to leave comments. So let me know what any of this kicks up for you!

*https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/nonviolence 

**I’ll acknowledge the many gifts and advantages I’ve received from being a white, suburban dude born in middle class America. Having the time, mental space, physical space, resources, experiences, education, networks, etc. that allow me to reflect and share these thoughts is something few have.