How to live when the world is ending

Poetry for troubled days

‘Ought we not, from time to time, open ourselves up to cosmic sadness?
… Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears their grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do not clear a decent shelter for your sorrow, and instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge, from which new sorrows will be born for others, then sorrow will never cease in this world and will multiply. And if you have given the space its gentle origins demand, then you may truly say: Life is beautiful and so rich.’
—Etty Hillesum, An Interrupted Life

Jacopo Tintoretto, ‘Lamentation over the Dead Christ’ (1560)

Dear reader,

Right now it feels as though overwhelm is everywhere—that fracture and a numb chaos of mind is becoming default.

This is hardly surprising; not when the countless shatterings of the world are slammed into you every morning every day and constantly. Of course we break when we are not given a break.

But sit back, and breathe, and hush the noise as we might, there is still so much that teeters on the edge. Though there is plenty we can do to ease our burdened minds and souls (de-screening ourselves, plunging into fellowship and community, working with our hands and hearts), we can’t avoid the fact that we live in difficult days. Yet avoidance isn’t what we should be aiming for anyway; our aim is liberation. And one of the ways we can liberate ourselves is by refusing to stop being; keep planting the seeds even though your fingers quiver, keep setting the table even though you shed a tear over who and what might be missing, keep listening to the dawnsong even though the airways also shake with bitter news.

Fight for change, yes, for a better world; never stop believing it is possible; but don’t deny the sorrow—grant it, as Etty Hillesum said, the space it needs; once we do, we might find that the desire to live becomes ever more fierce.

It doesn’t feel as though there’s much I can give right now. But I can keep giving words, however falteringly. Take the following poems as a blessing, a liturgy to carry into troubled days. And refuse to stop being; refuse to stop becoming.

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How to be fearless

Don’t be. Let the hardness of the world get to you,
let it soften you. Weep a little, or a lot.
Let the air be hallowed by the sound of your sobs.

It is not bloody-mindedness that is moving the sun
and the other stars; it is not strength
that makes the sap rise, the friends embrace,
the flowers bloom.

Don't strive for the horizon; reach for a hand.

Imagine if bravery was something better than ferocity.
Imagine if daring was all kinds of tenderness.
Imagine if vulnerability was a prerequisite.

It’s okay to be afraid. Life is just so beautiful, isn’t it?

What to do when hate seems to be winning

Take the stones out of your breath.
Reach for the hands of your sorrow—
we need all the soul we can get. Turn away
from the parts of you that are certain of anything
but the need for grief, and kindness, and the belief
that change, even amid the cruelty and the horror
and the anguish, is possible.

When other hearts are shrinking, make yours larger.
Take the side of humanity—
bless as much of it as you can.
See if your compassion can go further
than your pain wants to let you;
there are always ways to help, however small.

If you are going to withdraw
(and no one could blame you)
withdraw into softness, into the arms of goodness,
which though they might not seem it, are now—
are endless.

How to live when the world is ending

1
—much the same as we always should have.
The regrets that gnaw the bones of
those on their death beds have not changed.
Laughter in the face of the odds; a few
trembling hands to hold; a table to share. If
you keep your heart in a box of fear then
there's not much anyone can do for you;
there's not much you can do for them.
You are going to die—sooner, perhaps, than you
would like—so don't die wondering.

2
You will never arrive at life,
but if you unclench yourself for long enough
you will see that it is constantly breaking
over your head. It all sounds desperately serious,
but it's not so serious as you think.
Ten years from now you won't be the same person.
A thousand years from now you won't be a person at all.
The love will last, however, somehow, so if you're
looking for a clue, a thread to pull on, that’s the one.

3
Try to remember what the world is: it is skin,
dirt, tears, moonlight, joy, grief, disappointment,
grace—all the quivering web of aliveness.
If there is a flood of sorrow, let it in.
Let it drown any trace of hatred.
Reality can be devastating, but it’s what we have,
so for the love of all that is holy, look up;
look around. There is no abundance without
presence, no direction without attention, no
hope of healing ourselves or anything if we
are lost in the fog of distraction.

4
Go somewhere beautiful and don't take any
pictures. Remember what it is like to experience
something. What do you think your body and
your soul are for, anyway? Social media? Please—
use your life for living. There is so much shimmering
well within your reach. Go and touch a tree. Walk
bare foot on the grass, on the sand. Bake a loaf of bread
and tear it open with your hands. Meet a friend
and share your dreams and your sorrows
and some really good hummus. Give something away.
Lick the neck of your lover. Plant roses.

5
It all sounds very serious, and it’s far more serious
than you think, so remember that God
is not much more than connection, and kindness.
After all, it's not about you anyway.
Remember that there are new things
ready to be made, even now, even with the world
the way it is, even with all that has gone before.
One of those things could be your life.

©Gideon Heugh

A little note to say…

I won’t be putting The Green Chapel behind a paywall. I believe that poetry and ideas about God and other beautiful things should be as accessible to as many people as possible. Having said that, I am an independent artist, so I need all the support I can get. If you’re able to make a small contribution, I’d be incredibly grateful—it will help me to keep doing what I’m doing, and keep it free. Just click the button below. Thank you, GH.

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