Arrows Down
I got shaken last week. A hate-filled and threatening letter arrived at my home address. My reaction was to retreat. In the days that followed, I snatched down every blog post and most personal photos from my social media accounts in a fit of self-blame — I’d shared too much, I’d exposed myself in ways that made me too vulnerable. I wanted to hide. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and seriously considered never writing another word of truth that anyone else could read.
A few days later I realized that response doesn’t suit me so well.
I put a few of those blog posts back up. Then I went back through my drawings and chose this one to express my feelings about it all, which I named, “Arrows Down.” Arrows pointing down symbolize peace.
Under no circumstances is this post meant to provoke sympathy — in fact, that’s the last thing I want — I’m only posting these words to explain my abrupt behavior as I’ve got some things to figure out about public life. If you’d like to comment, please don’t make it about me, just leave a word about how you can make the world a nicer place today. Or don’t comment at all and just be kind to someone. We’re all stumbling, bumbling, imperfect human beings.
Regardless of what we see on social media or even in real life, I would bet we have no idea what others are really going through.
Arrows down.
Sending love everywhere,
AM
You put a lot of love and beauty out in the world...this is our chance to send a little back your way. I hope you feel the love and support from this community, and I hope you know how much value your art, in all its forms, adds to the positive side of the great balance that is this universe. You do what makes you feel safe and just know that we're here with open arms and hearts when you need us. For what it's worth, the author of that letter was wrong. I know that without having read it. Be well and at peace. And when I go out today, wherever it may be, I'll try to spread a little of that around.
In the wild, nature is stark and cruel. But predation is merely the necessary means of survival. Only human animals make a sport out of it. The veiled script of “reality” that courts humiliation over encouragement. On a compassionate level, one could interpret such an act as survival, the need to injure a vessel of kindness to salve their own self-loathing. Your open embrace of vulnerableness and love can draw the ire of someone whose own sense of unworthiness makes them unable to accept it. Thus, this visceral lashing is all that they know.
You asked not for sympathy, but I hope that you’ll hold for a moment the comfort of my empathy, for I, too, have been in retreat. And, as your elder, my mama-bear inclination to want to maim their cowardice with a roar of profanity for coming too close to what I deem as sacred. I promise then to arrow down with a balance of dedicated peace. As my finest, 86-year-old yogi used to say in meditation now and then, “FUCK ‘EM. Namaste.”