"Waging Peace" #10

Featuring Gary Earl Ross, Nation, and VocalEssence

Welcome to “Waging Peace”

Remember, you’re the co-creator of this dive. Do as much or as little as you’d like, when you’d like, how you’d like, with the materials I provide. Just keep gentle faith with yourself.

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Set your intention

Take a moment to name the primary intention you have for this month-long deep dive and/or this particular session. Take a quiet moment to center yourself in that intention.

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Receive the music

Try to refrain from judging the music as “good” or “bad” or forming an “I like it” or “I don’t like it” opinion. For a few minutes, cultivate curiosity and openness. If resistance arises in you, be curious about that too.

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Read the poem

I invite you to read this poem twice—aloud, at least once. You may also listen to my reading of the poem, perhaps with your eyes closed.

FOR THE MAN WHOSE SON MY SON KILLED
Gary Earl Ross

You must understand this: my son
called me after his first firefight,
distraught that he had taken life
when I had taught him to cherish it.
He called me, said he felt weird
and needed to talk to somebody.
Who better than the father who
carried him in a backpack, read
him a bedtime story each night,
and would always love him?
I’m here, I said. Tell me about it.
He did, and I listened, offering
mmm-hmms and yesses and words
of comfort when his voice caught.

Afterward he felt better and returned
to his duties in this dubious war.
Meanwhile, I was relieved he had
survived another day of the insanity.
On his second tour his vehicle hit a
roadside bomb. Bleeding from his
eyes because of a concussion, he flew
to the military hospital in Germany and
later came home. Again I was relieved.
Today, on the first leg of his third trip
to the Twilight Zone we’ve made of
your home, he called. I was glad to hear
his voice. Glad every damn time, ever-
terrified your experience will be mine.

Later, when NPR broadcast a wailing
Iraqi father who’d lost two sons in this
chaos, I thought of you for the first time,
wondered if you were that father. It was
purely chance that your son aimed at mine
and mine squeezed off an auto-burst first.
Two—no, three fathers in agony because
our leaders are all fools. Still, someone
should recognize your pain. I do, sir,
and so does my son, himself a father.
We are both sorry for your loss.


(from Poetry of Presence II)

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Contemplate/Create

Use any of these questions however you wish—e.g., as openings for meditation or prayer, as prompts for journaling or poetry-writing, as sparks for drawing or painting, as catalysts for change-making . . . You may also ignore my questions altogether to go off in other directions!

• Imagine yourself bearing witness to someone who has experienced wartime trauma. “I’m here. Tell me about it.” Identify what you would like to be able to offer that person as you listen. Write/create from that hope.

• This poem concludes with the line “We are both sorry for your loss.” How do you react to these oftentimes trite, empty words set in this particular context? How might sorrow help us to wage peace?

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Want to visit with other Rafters in the Deep Dive?

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These materials are for educational purposes only. Not for sale or reproduction.

Join me and a SPECIAL MYSTERY GUEST
for a closing Zoom on February 1!

6:00-7:00PM Central (7:00 ET, 5:00 MT, 4:00 PT)

Let’s close “Waging Peace” with a time of voluntary sharing. (It’s fine just to listen!) Come and reflect with other Rafters on this Deep Dive.

Registration is required for this celebration.

(Note: Minimum of five people must have registered for the Refuge by midnight, January 31, in order for this Zoom to take place. Thanks!)

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Questions? Never hesitate to contact me.

See you on Monday.