I’m not a true crime or horror kind of gal. I don’t enjoy blood or guts or gore. I don’t derive pleasure from other people’s suffering so it was curious to me why a new friend sent me a podcast about the wreck of the Grafton. The Grafton was a ship that crashed onto one of the islands near New Zealand in 1864 resulting in four men becoming stranded.
The podcast revealed all the details, all the trials and tribulations these men went through. I was riveted and disgusted in equal measure. I won’t share everything because I highly recommend you listen to the podcast for reasons I’ll reveal shortly, but suffice to say, they went through a nightmare. They had flies biting their skin and then laying eggs. They were sunburned and starving and dehydrated and sick. What they went through was horrific.
I listened to the podcast all the way through and in the last 10 minutes, I burst into tears and not because one of the men died. I won’t give away the ending because I truly think everyone should listen to the podcast, but the half-spoiler is what these men chose to do with their suffering. I’ve heard numerous tales of woe over the years and people have different responses to what happens.
A shipwrecked boat! In New Zealand! Photo by Aneta Hartmannová on Unsplash
Some people use suffering to turn them bitter, angry, resentful. Life stops being joyful because it doesn’t make up for all the trouble they’ve endured. They compare themselves to other people and always fall short. Then there are people who become selfish jerks who only care about what happens to them. They think no one else is looking out for them so they have to look out for themselves. They use their suffering to become greedy and entitled.
Then there are people who use their suffering to be of service to others. They think, “What I went through was horrific and I don’t want anyone else to suffer the way I suffered,” so they try to help others. They seek to be a bulwark against suffering and make life smoother.
For a long time, I’ve tried to skirt around suffering but that’s not possible. In my spiritual tradition we say that “God” is an acronym for “generator, operator, and destroyer,” and that means things, people, places, and situations will be destroyed. There’s no getting around struggle, suffering, and destruction. And rather than being something separate, apart, or removed from God, it’s inherent to God.
After listening to the podcast, I was reminded we all have a choice about what we do with suffering. I can’t say, “It all happens for the best! Just wait and see!” or engage in other spiritual bypassing, but what I can say is I know it’s up to me how I handle the suffering. I can choose to be a jerk, or I can do what I’ve always done, which is take pain and make it art. I can bundle all the suffering I’ve endured, all my deep feelings, all my everything and turn it into something that touches humanity and makes the road ahead a little less lonely, a little less rocky. Not everyone will make that choice as much as I wish they would. I can’t control other people, I can’t control what happens to me, but there are some things I can control. And one of those things is what I’m choosing to do with suffering.
I dream of a world where we recognize suffering, struggle, and destruction are inevitable. A world where we understand we can’t control whether terrible things happen but we can control what we do in response. A world where we make the choice to do something with our suffering.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I interviewed for a job recently that sounded perfect for me. When I told my friends about the position they all laughed because it seemed like such a great fit. It turns out it wasn’t because the company decided not to proceed with my application. It stings and also doesn’t make much sense to me.
I started puzzling out why they didn’t hire me, trying to comprehend their reasoning. My therapist told me, “Some things don’t make sense and sometimes suffering happens.” Ouch. Can that not be true? Thanks. It’s interesting to notice how much I don’t accept this perspective. I want a reason for everything. I want to know why. Why did a man try to run over pedestrians because he thought they were Muslims? Why did someone open fire on a synagogue during a Passover service? Why did a man shoot elementary school students?
This picture will make more sense as you keep reading. Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash
There are lots of possible answers — people are sick, they’re hurting, etc. — but there are many sick and hurting people that don’t kill others. Can I allow myself to instead grieve over the fact I don’t understand why people act this way? My adult self can rationalize ad nauseam, but the young part of me doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand why a job that seemed so perfect slid away, doesn’t understand why people disappear, and certainly doesn’t understand why people are cruel.
I think part of this is because I prefer to live in denial, or an idealistic fantasy. I mean, I know bad things happen, but I like to rush by them as quickly as I can like walking past foul-smelling garbage. It’s hard for me to accept the harshness of life.
In my spiritual tradition, we say God is an acronym. It stands for Generator, Operator, and Destroyer. I can totally get behind the generator and operator part. I’m all about creation and maintenance. The destroyer though? Surely that’s not God, is it? It is. Black holes are God and death is God and decay is God. It’s painful for me to admit that, I don’t want it to be true, but it’s true nonetheless. This is the cycle of life, a never-ending rhythm of creation, operation, and destruction.
My spiritual teacher says, “An indivisible cosmic rhythm which started from beginningless time marches ahead to infinity. No creature can remain away from this internal divine flow.” He also says that which is beyond the scope of causality is liilá. What we don’t understand, what we can’t explain, is called liilá. I could spend my life trying to figure out things I’ll never have an answer for, or I can give in to the rhythm and join the dance.
I dream of a world where we realize we won’t understand everything. A world where we allow ourselves the time and space to grieve the senseless and the tragic. A world where we understand that, too, is God, and that, too, is a part of life. A world where we keep dancing with the universal rhythm.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.