Sharing Heart– At West End Gallery
Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.
― Kahlil Gibran, Mirrors of the Soul
I cry quite often.
I am sure there was a time when I would not admit to this., possibly seeing it as a sign of weakness. As I age, I find myself becoming more transparent Less guarded and less caring of the opinions of others. I have come to see it simply as a part of being human. Certainly nothing to hide.
Like most everyone, I cry at sorrow and loss, such as those times when I miss my parents or grandparents. But I never cry for myself as I once did as very young child.
Certainly, never out of pity for myself or at those all too often instances when I have hurt myself. I learned long ago that that kind of crying didn’t change a thing and just wasted the time needed to get things straightened out. Actually, when things go wrong for me, I usually react with laughter. It helps more than you know. Much more satisfying, that’s for sure.
But I cry a lot. At beauty. At wonder. At the inherent power in goodness and love. At the courage and righteousness of those defiant few that confront hatred and injustice. At the sacrifices made by regular people to help others. At unexpected kindnesses offered. At those moments of feeling attached to all deep feelings. At things that make me absolutely joyous.
I cry sometimes simply at seeing the pure happiness of others.
There are passages in literature and music that instantly bring me to tears. And so many scenes from films. Henry Fonda‘s final scene in The Grapes of Wrath always makes me cry. I also tear up every single time I see the Marsellaise scene from the famous scene in Casablanca where the patrons at Rick’s Cafe drown out the singing Nazis there with their singing of the French national anthem. I am not exactly a Francophile, but that reaction has transferred to just hearing the Marsellaise anytime. Several times during the Olympics. There’s a defiant boldness in it that speaks to whatever it that triggers my tears.
I was brought to tears seeing Gus Walz, the 17-year-old son of vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz, at this past week’s Democratic National Convention openly sob and cry out “That’s my dad!” as his father came to the stage to thunderous applause. It was such an authentic moment of pure joy, pride, and love. It made me like Tim Walz even more because someone who inspires that kind of public outburst of love from their children is obviously a good and loving parent and person.
I also envied him. I can’t think of anyone who would be crying with that kind of love or joy for me in that instance.
Those on the rightwing immediately attacked the younger Walz for his very human display of emotion. It was predictable and right on point for that party as it is now constituted. Cruelty and mockery are among their trademarks now and any recognition of the human qualities of empathy, kindness, and caring is absent. All I could think is how pitiful and awful these people have become. They lack love and warmth for humanity and, as a result, will never know or even imagine the kind of love that would inspire such a reaction from their children.
It is a sad commentary on how that party has transformed in recent decades. I would choose Gus’ raw human emotions over their joyless and ugly cruelty anytime.
Okay, that’s off my chest. Thanks, if you read this far. Here’s this week’s Sunday Morning Music selection. It’s a great performance by k.d. lang of the song Crying from a tribute to Roy Orbison soon after he died. She had performed a wonderful duet with Orbison of this song before.
I can’t say this brought me to tears but there are moments here where she has me in absolute awe. Maybe a tear or two, I don’t know.
Redtree Times 