The legacy of love

I was at a dharma talk this morning, and at the end of it, someone played guitar while another person sang.
I scanned the room. Were we about to sing together? Was I about to be part of a group of people who sat in a room together and sang?
And then we did.
We sang together.
I didn't want to- didn't want to be a person... who sang.
Singing isn't functional. It's not something you need to do. It's not something that needs to get done. Plus, it's kind of emotional, you kind of sing your heart out.
But there I was, singing.
And to be honest, the only reason I did sing was because I didn't want to be the jerk who didn't sing. I get that other people sing and that it's a lovely thing to do so I didn't want to look down on that, make other people feel bad for singing by not singing.
But let me tell you, it was hard to sing.
Everything in my body told me not to sing, not be one of those people who had emotions, not be someone who did things because they felt them.
We were singing "We Shall Overcome" (it was a dharma talk in celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday). By the time we got to the line "Deep in my heart" I was crying- not because I was moved, but because I was sad.
Why couldn't I sing? Why couldn't I have emotions like everyone else? Why was I so judgmental of all the people in the room who were singing? Why was it so hard for me to sing?
And then I thought "Great- not only am I in a room, singing... I'm crying too!"
But then I remembered how crying was what brought me here in the first place, how crying was what had helped me, how crying was what I had needed to heal.

And then we got to the next line: We'll walk hand in hand...
"Sh*%" I thought. "I'll bet we're gonna start holding hands now."
And sure enough, as I looked across the room I saw a person, reaching for the hand of another person.
"Darnit!" I thought. "Now we're going to be like the Whos down in Whoville on Christmas morning- all singing and waving our heads together to music...."
I watched to see how far the chain of hand holding would go, how many people would play along. I worried about what I would do when it came to me. Would I deny the hand of another? Would I embrace it? Would I be a part of this group...singing....together?
I noticed that the hand holders were on the floor, and I was sitting in a chair. I smiled at the realization that I was free, as long as the chair sitters didn't start.
And then the darn person next to me reached for the hand of the person next to him, and she took it; and then he reached for my hand, and I gave it.
I gave it coldly, I played along, but I wasn't really into it. I wondered if I should reach down to the person sitting on the floor next to me and take their hand but then I decided that was going too far, it was too awkward.
So then I looked around the room, to see if we were all stuck in this place, of holding hands and singing. And I saw someone, who was not holding hands. I wondered how he got to get away with it, how come he didn't have to give in to this? I wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as I did. And then I decided that he did. I thought that he came from a generation similar to my father's- where we didn't necessarily hold hands and sing.
And then I imagined my dad singing, or holding hands with others and singing and the first thing I saw was my grandma, entering the room, and looking at him like he was crazy.
"You're singing? How could you be singing? There are things to do. There is dinner to be made and laundry to be folded and floors to be cleaned...."
Now, my grandma was not a task master, she wasn't a bossy person, she wasn't an overbearing mother- she wasn't any of those. She was a functional person. She had things to do: make dinner, clean the floors, fold the laundry... because these things needed to get done.
And I thought about when my grandma grew up: she grew up during the first world war. She grew up without a lot of money, probably without a ton of food, and I can't imagine she had fancy clothes or even a car. I'm pretty sure that she spent most of her life taking care of things- taking care of having food and shelter. So I think that she didn't necessarily have time for singing, let alone holding hands. It's not so much that she didn't value these things, she just didn't have time for them. She was busy making sure her basic needs- food and shelter- were met.
And I figured that my dad had the same situation. He had things to do: raise three kids and work a full time job. He too was busy making sure our needs were met.

And then the final lyrics of the song interrupted my thoughts:
We shall all be free, we shall all be free, we shall all be free some day....

And I thought about the legacy of oppression in our society- pictured the children whose basic needs weren't being met. And I pictured their parents, so stressed out in trying to make enough money to provide their children with food and shelter that they too didn't have time for holding hands, and singing. And I thought about freedom- to love, to sing, to be with others and I thought it was pretty important, and that maybe it was okay, and that everyone should be able to be in a room, with others, holding hands, and singing.