Clearing the psychic gunk
Social media, attention, death room friends, wearing personality lightly
“Aren’t you an infinite set of beings? I am.”
Ram Dass
You can forget anything. I’m terrified of being forgotten.
I don’t want to slip away into the ether. I cling to algorithms to maintain a tether to a past self. A tether can be a chain too.
More and more attention feels like a sacred thing. Systems want to keep us in a state of constant reactivity to exhaust us. I know this. You know this. I reblog, like, screenshot, thumbs up, heart, save, repost, share to story, retweet it.
But I feel it in my body more these days. I’m exhausted. After 466 days of genocide, a ceasefire was declared. Language pulls and collapses. Nervous journalists paw at language, not wanting to upset owners. Genocide, a word to be fought over. But what else is this?
These days I see more and more how history is written, wiped clean, and reworked. They have said it was a brutal conflict. They have said it is complicated. They will mark these words in books to try and further etch this version of the world.
They will not mention all the people whose lives were lost only hours after the agreement was made. (Why not an immediate ceasefire?)
They will not mention each excruciating day.
There are too many moments these days where I feel how deeply attention is disregarded by powers that be. I know this, you know this, but I still forget. But sometimes it is too acute: we are their little pawns, playing at their machines. Yes, I am angry.
Do I need to always pay attention? What does it mean to be a witness?
I too believe in the power of witnessing, of not looking away in crisis. But after scrolling my body is immovable, overwhelmed by stress. No, I don’t have a neat answer. Unfortunately for my classifying brain, I believe in paradoxes, and I know things do not exist in binary truths. Yes, there is a power in witnessing. Yes, urgency culture is a death culture. Yes, we are all trying to find the rhythms that work for us to function and show up in our lives as compassionately and fully as possible.
“America is marketing to the world the roots of such deep suffering.”
“How do you deal with encrusted myths and conceptual models that the mind of the culture keeps reinforcing? How do you bring in a breath of spirit? And all I can say to all these people is work on yourself. You’ve got to be the instrument. It spreads heart to heart to heart. It’s catchy. But you’ve got to have the illness first. You’ve got to be free of the crucifixion in order to ascend. It doesn’t mean denying the crucifixion, it means embracing the crucifixion into yourself. If someone says are you happy? I’d say yes. If someone were to say, are you sad? I’d say yes. If someone were to say, are you hopeful? I’d say yes. If someone were to say are you hopeless? I’d say yes.” -Ram Dass
For months after Matt’s accident, a group of friends spent afternoons in the hospital and nursing home together. We went to dinner together as a steady group. At that time, I thought of sick/injury/crisis/death room friends. Who would be there when crisis hit?
At Terra’s stepdad Mike’s funeral, a bucket of Coronas was passed around after the eulogies. Sitting at a plastic table with their family, I thought about how being friends for another decade would surely mean seeing each other through many more deaths. This was a layer of friendship I had not necessarily expected. What a privilege to be invited, and to be a close enough to drive away to be able to support a friend through tragedy.
Who will I be when crisis hits? It is not an immaterial, philosophical question. I’ve had to find out the answer many times.
No, I don’t want to live as if a crisis is around every corner. Yes, I know that it will surely come, it is coming all the time. No, I don’t want to leave. No, I don’t want to make a bunker. No, I don’t want to rush to respond to every single threat of apocalypse. No, I do not think I can protect myself totally from crisis. Yes, I can take some precautions. Yes, tending to my nervous system is a great precaution. Yes, I feel resentful about the ways attention is commanded. Yes, I see urgent messages about the world ending as a way to manipulate attention and exhaust. Yes, the world is horrible. Yes, there is unbelievable tragedy. Yes, the world is unbelievably beautiful. Yes, I love life deeply. Yes, I am so angry sometimes. No, I do not imagine these paradoxes will ever be solved. Yes, I will still do what I can to tend to my own systems in the day to day.
“Whether this is the first day of the Apocalypse or the first day of the Golden Age, the work remains the same…to love each other and ease as much suffering as possible.” Ram Dass
These days, the details of my life hardly makes it to a screen. These days, I only lose followers on Instagram. I watch the number go down and I don’t care enough to begin posting or churning out images like I once did. I don’t want to share on there as freely as I once did. Don’t get me wrong. It used to be fun. But now I have sold myself on the myth so many of us have: I must be as I was or else I will evaporate into something I do not understand.
Here I am, evaporating.
Here are things I would rather do than scroll social media or obsessively click on articles of clothing I want to buy, getting dizzier with compulsion: Go to an art show, complete a full book, write a poem, sit in silence, go to sleep, cry, lift weights, call a friend, write a letter, remember life, believe something new, change, ask my friend how they are feeling, question being alive, ride my bike, feel the sun.
God, I got sucked up in valuing others’ opinions to the point where I believed my worth was inseparable from them. I kept thinking I had to maintain something, and forgot how to do the thing I loved to do. I became afraid of saying the wrong thing, of making something that sucked.
I am afraid of not being interesting or continuous. I am afraid of wanting privacy, of slipping into silence and not knowing what I will find there.
This mud is rich and filled with questions. This psychic gunk came from somewhere.
God, I feel guilty if I don’t keep up. They need me to keep up. Who? They. Everyone.
The wheel keeps turning. I don’t look at others’ suffering and think I am impenetrable. I’ve been hurt and lost. I’ve been wiped clean. I know I will be again.
Still, I will retreat into whatever silence calls me. I will hone my attention because I know it is a precious and sacred gift. I will not give it away so freely, nor get wrapped up in thinking it must go anywhere. I will sit with the awkward, horrible, beautiful expanse of quiet and uncertainty.
I won’t be afraid. Why fear a breeze?
MORE
List of fundraisers for those effected by the Eaton fires
Bread & Roses Press which houses books, tapes, and zines.
Adam Gnade’s book, I Wish to Say Lovely Things, about friendship, love. Here is my blurb for it:
“Adam creates another world through his writing, one that is visceral and sharp, and helps this one make more sense.”A playlist I had fun making! For **~*January 2025 **~~*
Ram Dass Here and Now podcast (An archive of his talks. Many of these quotes by him are from there.)
Combatting urgency.
Tapping out of older ways of being.
Not putting your worth into the hands of invisible and visible eyes.
Knowing which standards you are living up to. A good way to find out is by seeing what your aspirational goals are, and how you act those out in daily life.
Playing the game of life with fun and a lot of curiosity.
Grateful for you, whether or not you post about your life online. It’s such a beautiful treat—I can’t do anything more or less than savor every word and breath you take in between. Love you, Lora.
This is what I’ve been feeling and wanting to say. Thank you