When I see you smile

Hope and joy amidst "The Empire at the end of the decadence.”

Children in Gaza

When I see you smile
I can face the world, oh
You know I can do anything
When I see you smile
See a ray of light, oh
See it shinin' right through the rain
When I see you smile

I wasn’t singing Bad English’s late 80s power ballad when I woke up this morning. But as I looked at this picture, the song popped into my head.

There’s something about a smile that makes us smile.

I could get all brain science-y again and talk about “mirror neurons” and stuff like that, but the reasons really don’t matter.

The truth matters.

There’s something about a smile.

I was actually listening to a very different song this morning. I’ve been diving into Dylan and this one popped up

Shadows are fallin' and I've been here all day
It's too hot to sleep and time is runnin' away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal

There's not even room enough to be anywhere
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing, there's been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter, and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writin' what was in her mind

I just don't see why I should even care
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

Well, I've been to London and I been to gay Paris
I've followed the river and I got to the sea
I've been down on the bottom of the world full of lies
I ain't lookin' for nothin' in anyone's eyes

Sometimes my burden is more than I can bear
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

I was born here, and I'll die here against my will
I know it looks like I'm movin', but I'm standin' still
Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from

Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

This is late-career Dylan (or maybe mid?), from his 1997 album Time Out of Mind. He said once the inspiration for this song was a

Dylan once said that he was inspired by French poet Paul Verlaine line in Langeur (1883):

“I am the Empire at the end of the decadence.”

The whole poem is this:

I am the Empire at the end of decadence,
Watching the tall white Barbarians pass,
While composing lazy acrostics, alas,
In a style where the languid sunlight dances.

The soul alone still glows with noble brightness;
The laurelled brow has lost its ancient power,
The games are dull, and the hunt is no longer ours,
And pride no longer tastes of rightness.

Yet still, weighted with the pomp of bygone days,
With art refined until it becomes fluid pain,
I dream of a pure friend’s tight embrace,
Of a healing kiss, sovereign and plain.

(I’m sure it’s even better in the original French)

And … It truly feels like we are the Empire at the end of decadence.

In my last post, I mentioned “compassion fatigue” … and maybe I have it.

Over the past week, my social media feed has been filled with images of starvation coming out of Gaza.

This after images of children’s bodies being dug out of rubble in Gaza.

This after fill in the blank images of atrocity in Gaza.

These images are important … it’s too easy for us … for me … to turn our backs on what is happening here, especially since …

Grover has lost his funding so he’s going all in on speaking truth.

And Dylan’s words feel like they could be pouring out of my own heart:

Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal

Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing, there's been some kind of pain

Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from

Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

And then to compound the feeling of gathering gloom, I got word that an old dear mentor of mine, Bishop Jeffrey Rowthorn, just died.

And I talked with a friend who is going through an excruciating family situation.

The grief we have for Empire at the end of decadence doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

We have plenty of other grief in our lives.

Grief touches grief.

Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

I’m reading Srdja Popovich’s Blueprint for Revolution in preparation for our first substack bookstudy session next Tuesday at 6 pm Pacific (there’s still time to sign up here … activist Andre Henry will be joining us for the first session).

And I came upon this from Srdja:

“During our time of fear, we Serbs learned that fear is best fought with laughter, and if you don’t believe me, then try to think of the best way to reassure a friend who is about to be wheeled into an operating room for major surgery. If you act serious and concerned, his anxiety will spike. But if you crack a joke, suddenly he will relax, and maybe even smile. The same principle is true when it comes to movements.”

And I remembered.

If my motivation is to stop the pain … the ones causing the pain will eventually figure out they can wear most people out (including me) by just causing more pain that I can bear.

And … if my motivation is to preserve the beauty.

If my motivation is grounded not in stopping something negative but embracing something joyful.

If my energy comes from singing rather than keening…

If my energy comes from a vision for the future rather than a longing for the past…

If my energy comes from a deep belief in humanity’s beauty and goodness rather than raging against the machine…

Then not only will it be more sustainable … it will leave us with a chance of having a better world than we started with before the atrocities.

Not just staving off the death … but bringing on the resurrection.

Last week, I read (listened to, actually) Leyla King’s Daughter’s of Palestine.

Leyla is an extraordinary storyteller. She weaved five generations of her family story in a book that was as much a beautiful dance as prose.

I could see her family in my mind’s eye.

I could see Leyla’s smile as I heard her tell the stories.

The movie screen of my mind was playing beautiful pictures.

Pictures of dance and joy.

Pictures of weddings and family dinners.

Pictures of the wonder of life.

So many times, when I listened to her spin the tales … even though (especially though) I knew too well what is happening there.

There were times I found myself weeping …. not necessarily the easiest thing for me … and right away I knew the tears were because the stories … and the people … were so beautiful.

Ten years ago, National Geographic published a beautiful photo essay called “A Photographer Captures Joy in Gaza” — where a brilliant photojournalist, Tanya Jabjouqa, took pictures of everyday life in the “world’s largest open air prison.”

Because of copyright, I won’t share the pictures here .. but please click the article and look at it.

And … the search continued.

I found a Red Cross website that introduced me to

Faten Abu Serdana, 30. Computer engineer, ICRC radio operator.

Being a woman in Gaza means that there are many things I cannot do. I love travelling and exploring new places and cultures, but the people of Gaza can’t move or travel because of the restrictions imposed on us. One reason I’m happy to work for the ICRC is that it has enabled me to attend courses outside Gaza for the first time.

I would like to tell the women of the world that women in Gaza are creative and well-educated. We are not closed-minded. If you want to get to know us better, come and visit us in Gaza!

Heba El Hayek, 21. Studying English. She established the first debate club in the Gaza Strip

Being a woman in Gaza is the most difficult thing and the most beautiful. The most difficult because it requires me to prove myself, because I’m in my early twenties and still thought of as “young.” The most beautiful because I love being in an environment that challenges me. Although that can sometimes become tiring.

Salwa Srour Fadel. Kindergarten owner and school bus driver.

I started driving the bus four years ago because I received complaints from the children’s families about the drivers I used to employ. So I bought a bus and started to pick up the children myself. It was challenging in the beginning because people were surprised. They stared at me or raised their eyebrows, but I just ignored them and carried on driving. Palestinian men often seem stubborn and appear not to understand, but actually they are always helpful and supportive. As I was the only female bus driver in Gaza they would let me go to the front of the queue when I was buying diesel, out of respect, because I’m a woman.

And then I found these pictures of just the incredible beauty of humanity.

I look at these pictures … taken before the genocide started … and knowing that some of the people in them are dead now. But that even in the rubble there is the indefatigable joy that is the human spirit.

I look at these pictures, and I smile.

I smile because when I see them smile …
I can face the world, oh
You know I can do anything
I need to remember.

Look for the beauty.

Look for the smiles.

Look for the joy.

Yet still, weighted with the pomp of bygone days,
With art refined until it becomes fluid pain,
I dream of a pure friend’s tight embrace,
Of a healing kiss, sovereign and plain.

Dylan was right

It's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there

And …

Darkness is still beautiful.

And …

It’s not dark yet.