Mass murder appears to be the latest fad. We flood our minds with dreadful ‘news’ day in and day out, one disaster after another. There are so many dead bodies that empathy is simply whittled away. We’re numbed. Worse, there appears to be no way out, no surcease, only more and more and more that is evil, is wrong, is corrupt, is violent and terrible.
And yet, we awake each day to the singing of the world, its ancient voice raised in the song of birds, the sighing of wind in the trees, the mutter of a rapids. I was down by the sea a few days ago, and reflecting on just how ancient is its voice. Before any creature lived on Earth, the sea was sounding, the waves drawing up and expending themselves with a sighing roar, again and again. Then I thought, how many other worlds is this happening on right now–millions, billions, tens of billions?
Of course, other worlds must also bear violence, terrible histories, anguished voices crying out into the vastness of the universe. Before the suffering, as before the waves, one stands in silence. It is possible to look past the misery and pain of the moment, into the ancient power of being itself, that is deeper than any pain, more eternal even than planets and stars, and will remain in its humble solitude even after the universe itself is a memory.