Let All Sorrow Ripen in Me

I dip into a book to help soothe the sorrow and overwhelm I feel at the continuing devastation and tragedy in the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah. I am acutely aware of the blessing that I am not among the countless number of our people affected in the last three days. Nature does not discriminate, in it’s beauty or its fury. I pray for everyone’s safety and mourn the loss of life, and I am incredibly grateful that at this moment my loved ones and I are spared.

As always, the people of our motherland are resilient and kind in any disaster. We rise in compassion and love when our neighbours are in distress. And as the multitude of video footage shows, we lend a hand even when we ourselves are struggling. Those whose houses have crumbled rush to the aid of another whose home is about to float away. Our hearts are open to the humanity of our neighbours, even when we do not know them.

The book I turned to is by the late Joanna Macy — resilience epitomised as a climate change activist and Buddhist scholar — co-written with Chris Johnson. The title of this post is borrowed from a quote attributed to Shantideva in her book Active Hope: How to Face the Mess We’re in Without Going Crazy.

“Let all sorrow ripen in me.”

This is an invitation to feel our full humanity. It is only when we allow ourselves to experience sadness, anger, and distress for the world that we are moved to action. I have often struggled with the deep pain of the world and sometimes avoided it — especially when I felt I could not contribute beyond my prayers. My helplessness, or fear of feeling too much, kept my engagement at bay. I built small invisible walls, choosing not to watch certain videos so that I would not feel the pain too deeply. It kept me safe. And also distanced.

As I write this, I return to the question of how much I allow myself to immerse in the world’s pain, and how much I protect myself from it. I know this tension will return again and again.

What I am learning today is that pain for the world is a sign of our inter-connectedness. When we cut this pain off, we cut ourselves off from the web of life we belong to. Every time the world hurts and we feel anguish, it is because what is hurting, broken, or lost is in some way part of us.

We fear that we will not be able to overcome our grief — our anger, our disbelief at what can feel like a cruel world.

Macy reminds us that we begin with what we feel we cannot bear. When we refuse to look, we only hide from reality and lose any sense of preparedness to meet it. Instead, we acknowledge our despair, confusion, and lack of knowledge or resources. We share it. And in sharing, we remember that we are not alone and that we can become participants in creating a different future.

Active hope, Macy writes, is something we do. It is intentionally cultivated.

I am reminded that I have done this in my personal life — entered liminal spaces of interruption and chaos and emerged on the other side. And as Sri Lankans, we have done this again and again.

This is not a time to weigh our chances and move only when hope feels available. We become intentional in our hope and let that intention guide us. We take one step at a time.

I have watched videos I would previously have turned away from. I have allowed them to move me, in many different ways, towards what I can do to be of use. I have stopped thinking that it is not enough. I am reminded by Hiva Tuki Grube, a young conservationist in Norfolk, who says that if one-person cares, another person will care.

“Caring is power.”

I hold my tiny but mighty island in my heart and prayers today, and I celebrate the indomitable spirit of her people — my people. We are our own light.

Image Credit: https://indtoday.com/cyclone-ditwah-havoc-pushes-sri-lankas-toll-to-153/