Throughout my last two jobs, I’ve had the same folded-up xerox copy of the first page of a memoir which has the following lines attributed to an anonymous Vietnamese poem taped to the wall above my desk:
We fill the craters left by the bombs
And once again we sing
And once again we sow
Because life never surrenders.
These words struck me when reading the memoir, but these days I don’t remember why. Over the last three years, I’ve thought a great deal about trauma and grief. First motivated to begin understanding it more while working with the survivors of homicide-loss, and then through my own personal journey through difficult work days, and now in the context of the lives of my individual clients as well as communities in which we work for transformation and development.
The notion that suffering and pain, while seen to be inherently private and…
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Wow, this puts any small problems in perspective. They fill their craters, I fill my Daybook. And I complain I’m too busy. They fill their craters, I fill my fridge. And complain when I have to get to the grocery, when I should be thankful for that opportunity. They fill their craters, I fill my home with things. And complain I have to dust them.