Finding Beauty
Yesterday I wrote about the first time I visited Palestine in 2009.
I remember a promise I made to myself the day I left and returned to the so-called United States.
On the evening of June 25, 2009, I traveled by taxi to the airport. As we approached the apartheid wall that separates the occupied West Bank from ‘48 (so-called Israel), my heart was heavy with the weight of all that I had seen, heard, and experienced in the month I had been in Nablus.
Looking out the window, I was suddenly astonished to see a massive field of sunflowers.
A sea of yellow heads in full bloom.
Sunflowers help detoxify soil. Their strong stalks hold up their heavy heads. They move in unison, turning towards the nourishment of the sun.
Their collective existence, their insistence on living, even amid so much oppression, felt like rebellion. They reminded me of the people I’d met and the stories I’d heard. A sea of people, transforming toxic soil into radiant beauty, turning toward the sun. I thought of whoever planted this field, the beauty they cultivated and tended to, and how their devotion rippled out.
I made myself a promise that day: I wouldn’t forget the realities of oppression and the reality of beauty, how both are intertwined in this world.
I promised not to turn away from the suffering caused by oppression but also not to turn away from the beauty that helps sustain life amid injustice.
This past year+ of genocide in Gaza, nothing has felt more important than bearing witness to the suffering our government is causing. I believe that our attention and refusal to turn away from the genocide are the least we can offer. At times, I’ve felt that tending to beauty might betray what’s needed right now. But when I remember that sea of sunflowers glowing in the evening light, I remember that beauty sustains us as we fight for collective liberation. Beauty reminds us of the sacred that dwells in the world around us. Beauty is a testament to all that is larger and truer than the suffocating realities/possibilities oppressive systems present.
Oppressive systems want to crush our spirits; finding beauty helps us refuse the impulse to acquiesce to despair.
I recently felt inspired to take a photo walk with my 35mm camera and a roll of solar film (which creates random light leaks in the photos). I waited weeks to develop them and see what beauty would be beheld. When I look at these images, I’m reminded of what keeps me fighting.
Life on earth is a precious miracle. I am only here for a brief time, and awe and sorrow are interwoven.
Like a sunflower, I want to nourish our collective soil, beckoned by life to grow and stand together.
Like a heron, I want to reach down and seek sustenance in the water.
Like the ducks, I want to stick together.
Like the passionflower, I want to call life toward me.
I want to let light leak through.
I want to live in a world where the beauty of existence and every human is protected, tended to, and honored.
I want the beauty I witness to fuel the justice I seek.
Story Prompts:
Do any of these images conjure a specific (or web of) memories? If so, write about the memory/ies. You can start with “I remember….” Set a five minute timer and see where the memory/ies take you
What sustains you as you fight for collective liberation? What helps you refuse to acquiesce to despair? Share a memory about how you came to understand what nourishes you to keep showing up. Share a memory about a time you refused to acquiesce to despair and what helped you do so.
Are sorrow and awe interwoven for you? How? How do you hold the range of human experience - from the pains of oppression/loss - to the communion of love and beauty? When you think about your relationship to sorrow and beauty, what memories come to mind?
How might the things that bring you delight, awe, and aliveness be harnessed or shared as you fight for a free Palestine? Is there a way you’ve integrated what brings you delight into your activism before? How did that feel? What was that like?
