Walking Each Other Home

What a week. Lots of grief on a societal level, but also a personal one. I’m reminded of how human we are. Of how we’re all in this together. As Ram Dass says, “We’re all just walking each other home.”

His quote kept ringing through my head this week. In times of trauma and grief, I want to do something. Sometimes there are actions to take, but sometimes all we can do is hold each other while we cry.

With painful feelings, I’ve often wanted someone else to take them away. To siphon them off as they would drink the last of a milkshake. I wanted someone, anyone, to make me feel better. Speaking as someone with loads of experience trying to escape her feelings, I can say without a doubt the answer is “That’s not possible.” No one else can cry my tears for me. No one else can take away my pain. Other people and things may distract me for a while, but just as with storm clouds, they darken the sky whether I acknowledge them or not.

Ram Dass’ quote reminds me no one is supposed to take away my pain and sorrow because we are all humans. We are not machines. We can’t write a code that says, “We will never feel sad ever.” Furthermore, it’s no one’s responsibility to make me feel better. We are fellow companions on this path. We are pilgrims going on a pilgrimage. There may be times I sprain my ankle and have to rely on others for help, but the responsibility for forward motion is still mine, and the responsibility to move through my emotions is still mine.

My spiritual teacher says, “[A] true society is like a group of pilgrims who attain a deep psychic affinity while traveling together, which helps them solve all the problems in their individual and social lives.”

That’s us. A group of pilgrims traveling this rocky path together. I’m speaking in metaphors a lot in this post, but what I’m trying to get at is it’s not my responsibility to solve or fix someone’s emotional state, or vice versa. I don’t have all the answers, or any of the answers, really. I can’t tell a person how to live their life or what they should do to feel better. All I can do is say, “I hear you and I’m beside you. I’m walking this path with you as a companion.” And that’s it. We’ll address problems as they arise – blisters, sprained ankles, etc. – but the emotional states? I’ll be with you during them, but the tears are still yours to cry and the steps are still yours to walk. And maybe that’s enough.

I dream of a world where we recognize we are all pilgrims on a pilgrimage. A world where we sit with each other when we’re in pain. A world where we realize all we can do is be there for each other. A world where we remember we’re all just walking each other home.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.