End the Slaughter
Listening to mariachi musicians grieving the brutal murders of 19 students and one teacher at the elementary school in Uvalde, Texas, brought tears to my eyes. Mariachi is indigenous Mexican music that conveys the depth of joy, pain, celebration, and anguish of the human condition. As the Uvalde story unfolds in the news, we learn of the horror these little ones experienced on their way to execution. It was some small comfort to hear powerful voices come together to remember these children, to protest their annihilation, and to lament the unbearable loss.
Photo Credit: New York Times, June 4, 2022
Ten years ago, I lived twelve miles from Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut where 20 children and six adults were murdered in much the same way. I was the pastor of a church there, and our community of churches and temple gathered with lit candles to remember, protest, and cry.
Six years before that, I lived twenty miles from Nickel Mine, Pennsylvania where ten Amish schoolgirls were shot, killing five and leaving five seriously injured. A friend who was the music minister of a cathedral in Germany brought his wife and five children across the ocean to sing a concert in memory of the children. We all cried. We didn’t know enough back then to protest.
Slaughter of Innocents
This blog post is not an anti-gun screed although I could easily guide my pen in that direction. Instead, it’s an acknowledgment that our innocents are being slaughtered in more ways than this triad of stories conveys. Your internal Little Ones and my internal Little Ones know what it’s like to be tortured yet, thanks to our fragmented selves, we are still alive. Except for our own gut-wrenching sobs, no one cries. Except for the poignant songs written and sung by some of our home-grown talented musicians, no one sings. In many cases, except for you, me, our therapists, and the figures who stand in the shadows, no one knows.
Will It Never End?
My heart bursts with pain over the senseless death of these schoolchildren, just as I wept ten years ago, just as I wept sixteen years ago, just as I weep silently, today, for the death of innocence. Will it never end, in the schoolroom, in the bedroom, in the barnyard, in any place someone with a gun, or a warped sense of power, or an unbridled sexual urge acts out evil on children because a community refuses to take a stand?
Knowing Who Our Tears Are For
I am grateful for the mariachi musicians and others who sing, write, make art and otherwise find ways to express the inexpressible, to remember, to protest. As I listen to them and cry, I know I am crying for the children of Uvalde, and Sandy Hook, and Nichol Mines, and you, and me, and countless others who have fragmented minds, or will have fragmented minds because of what is being done to them in this very moment.
End the Slaughter
Each of us may be moved by different genres of music, words, and artwork that hold us in solidarity with suffering. Mariachi music does that for me. Through these expressions, I hope others will come to know the pain of chronic childhood abuse, grieve the loss of who we might have been, and take the steps to make it end, right now. May the community sing to our heartbreak and hope. The great 17th century English poet, John Donne, wrote, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”
Self-Care
A dissociative disorder is a lonely condition. We hide it well and act strong, as we were programmed to do. Yet we need the support of others who acknowledge, remember, sing, and protest with us and for us.
Remember, we are a community. None of us are alone. As we bond, trust, and move forward one small step at a time, we become a mariachi band, or art gallery, or anthology, or simply friend to others who know what it’s like.
As alone as you may feel, you are not.
DW Meeting Monday Night
Don’t forget our June DW meeting will meet Monday at 6:30 pm Eastern (5:30 Central, 4:30 Mountain, 3:30 Pacific). There’s lots on the agenda, from an online community platform to our second writing anthology — with lots more in-between. YOU are invited! Simply use your workshop link to enter the meeting. Contact me through this website if you’d like to come but don’t have the link.
Crazy Wins Award!
I’m so proud to announce that my memoir, Crazy: Reclaiming Life from the Shadow of Traumatic Memory, was named Finalist by the 16th Annual National Indie Excellence Awards (NIEA) (it’s about three quarters of the way down the page with other memoir finalists). If you haven’t yet left an Amazon review or rating, consider doing so now.
It’s gratifying to be recognized in this way — it almost didn’t happen since the email went into my Junk folder and I didn’t find it until 48 hours after it was received! Thank you, everyone, for supporting my writing. I’m honored to support yours ❤️.
Memoir Class Registration
Our beginners Memoir Class for Dissociative Writers is open for registrations. We will meet for two hours a week for six week in September and October, 2022. Minimum enrollment is four students (we’ve already met that) and maximum enrollment is eight students. This class has a syllabus, suggested weekly readings and writing exercises. We suggest you check in with your therapist before registering as intense memoir work can destabilize some people. DW subscribers receive a 50% discount. Click here to go to the DW website and learn more about the memoir class.
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Tú eres la tristeza de mis ojos
Que lloran en silencio por tu amor
You are the sadness in my eyes
that cry in silence for your love
~ Lyrics by Juan Gabriel, sung by mariachi singers at Uvalde