Blame

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about blame and how useless I find it, in particular in the face of catastrophe. I think at its core, the activity of blame stems from an existential terror of impermanence. Soft, vulnerable little organisms that we are, blessed and cursed with this consciousness, we struggle to accept the truth: that we spend our lives being battered around a petri dish by forces hundreds of times our size, forces which occur now and occurred thousands and thousands of years ago, rolling in waves of causes and conditions. We little amoebas, we roll around the agar poked by pipettes and syringes until one day something else happens, from which no one returns and for which we have no useful language. In the face of the traumatic confluence of those forces - so many we can’t count, so large we can’t see - blame allows us the illusion of control. This thing - this thing is the reason for my current discomfort. I may point at it, so therefore it exists and I can understand it. Fault is a magician, conjuring the illusion of solidity.

Destruction is easy. Building is hard. Blame is destructive. Collaboration builds. Bad things happen fast. Good things take time. The forces that would control our bodies and minds want us separated - want us blaming. Wherever you can (and forgive yourself if you can not) resist the desire to blame; fan the flame of connection even in the face of dire disagreement and see what might be built.

I would urge you, if you find yourself pointing these days, to take a breath and open your palms.