Today I want to share a poem that I wrote after 9/11. Gabriel was one, and we'd just moved from New York City, where I was in graduate school and where I also grew up, to Boston so that I could work with the poet Jorie Graham.
Eric and I watched in horror on the TV as the Twin Towers went up in flames; I tried to call my family but couldn't get through because the lines were all busy.
I, like most people I knew, was worried there would be another attack. When I got my family on the phone, I was so relieved they were safe. I realized what a great and precious gift peace is.
How had the attacks happened? There were gaps in our national security systems and almost 3,000 innocent people died. But instead of meeting violence with the deep sadness and statesmanship that it demands, instead of mourning and trying to make the world a safer place, Bush responded by bringing the US into two wars.
It's hard to get accurate numbers from these wars that spanned many years; reports tell us that anywhere between 150,000-4 million people died unnecessarily as a result of the wars. And for every person who died, there was a much larger circle of people who were injured, a much larger circle who mourned loved ones, and a much larger circle of people who were traumatized and will pass that trauma to the next generation.
The cost of those wars in dollars was in the multi-trillions of dollars—dollars that could be spent feeding people, on education, on diplomacy, on so many other things. The military alone used roughly 50 million gallons of fossil fuels each month to wage the war, fuel that pollutes our air and water and destroys climate and species habitat.
These numbers are on the conservative side and are provided by mainstream sources.
Dear ones, sometimes the insanity of this world feels too much. The simple facts can feel like too much to take in.
And yet, we seem not to learn from history. We have stories about war, but we still don't have stories that prioritize peace. My heart is breaking for the lives that are being lost right now because of the dangerous, narcissistic, macho ideas and actions of people in power—all around the world. There are many leaders who are problematic, but war doesn't solve problems. It causes them.
And yet, here, for now, we are. And I am aware that my body hurts when I write those numbers above because I love this world. Because I love my family and friends and the people of this world, because I love the blue sky, because I am in awe of even the squirrel that I see out my window who seems happy that the snow is melting. Because I love this life.
And in this life, all we can do is be ourselves, hold onto our sanity, use our voices and our hearts, and sometimes, if necessary, our bodies to live with greater peace.
So I want to share this poem at the start of the Iraq War, I wrote many years ago; it's about war, peace and creativity.
If you feel the way I do, please, call your representatives and tell them you do not support a war with Iran. (If you live here in the US, you can also add your name here.) All the things we care about — democracy and human rights and the health of our planet — become even harder to support in a country that is fighting an unjust, unprovoked war.
After the poem, I also have a few writing prompts and resources for you to nourish your creative spirit; our humanity and our creativity are important! It's not only okay, it's necessary that we keep our creative spirit alive.
On Pacifism: On Taking up the Brush, Not the Sword
by Nadia Colburn
The painter stands up. He lifts from the bottle of ink his paintbrush. It has snowed. Last night, all night. And on the mountain this morning, snow was glistening.
The paper is white, long, rolled out taut across the table. He moves his paintbrush over it, brings the paintbrush down, draws one line, fine, very fine, not straight, but gentle, upon it.
His next line is thicker. It moves across the line already drawn. Until it stops. And another line begins. And I begin to see all the other lines of the poem I cannot read.
For it is a poem he has written. About the scholar beside the river. The water flows within the river's banks.
And I think of the relation of one line to another line. Then to every other line. Then of one line's relation to itself. And suddenly I can see how each point on the line is a decision, a place where something could change.
I think about the individual life. But what I have meant is larger. How the paper shows through just a bit. But it is larger, having something to do with love. Having something to do with the limit of what can be thought.
Under the brush, the paper is empty, does not know the directions up and down.
I am constantly trying to rearrange things so that the lines I cannot read around me become legible, so that the story can make sense.
Perhaps the snow has begun to fall onto the mountain. The snow has begun to fall into the river of the poem. It is summer--the river runs to a warm summer sea. There is no mountain at all.
Four hundred years ago in China, a man woke up one morning, to himself, to another day in some season. Outside his window: beautiful things. And two towns away some unspeakable violence. In the next town. In his own.
The mind puts in objects. Takes them out. But it is the body that sits down. That says no. That lets itself stay seated when the call to war comes.
No. The body that loves the river, mountain, tree, the sun. That will not take that from another.
The body alone that says yes to itself.
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Writing Prompts:
- Write a piece (poem, story, essay, etc) about a painter: what are they painting? What is the message of the painting?
- Write a piece (poem, story, essay, etc) about your response to violence. Can you use images to describe how you feel?
Metta Meditation
I’m finding meditation particularly helpful during this time, and have been sending out a metta meditation to myself, my loved ones and to the world. This is a loving kindness meditation for protection and wellbeing. And I want to send it to you now, too.
*There are many different wordings of this meditation. My favorite, below, is borrowed from Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein. I have added the last line.
May you feel protected and safe
May you feel contented and pleased
May your physical body protect you with ease
May your life unfold smoothly with ease
May your light shine unobstructed with ease
In a traditional metta practice, we practice first for ourselves (sometimes that can be challenging), then for a person we love, then for an acquaintance, then for a person you find challenging. Finally we practice for the entire universe.
If you'd like to dive deeper and explore this practice alongside some writing prompts, I invite you to sign up here to access my Free Resource Library, where you can find my Metta Meditation Guide and more.
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Take good care! Use your voice to get your opinions out there. Breathe and create.
As always, I'd love to hear how the prompts and meditation go for you. Just send an email to nadia@nadiacolburn.com.
with love and peace,
Nadia