This morning I read the article in the New Yorker about Ray Kachel and Occupy Wall Street.  I thought about gifted, desperate people like Ray.  The photograph of him is arresting, haunting.  He is looking straight into the camera.   There is both a challenge and a softness in his eyes.  His story is horrific.  His story is common.  I want to be angry.  I don’t want to be angry.  I want to do something immediate and helpful.  I don’t want to do anything.  I am powerless.  I have choices.

One choice I am pretty clear about: I don’t want to be in Zuccotti Park.  I don’t want to visit, I don’t want to feel what it is to camp on tarps, to be hungry and wet, and surrounded by sounds and humans over which I have no control.

Another choice: I want to show up, in my way.  To shine a light.  To do my best today. Even when I am not sure what to do, there can be a grace in that.   Maybe to just sit with my despair, my confusion and my love.

Yesterday I also read Jon Katz’s eloquent post about animal rights.  Another light shining.  More grace.

postscript:  This week in The Journal, I am writing another ragged little memoir.  The working title is The Beast.  You can subscribe to The Journal here. (As always, you can unsubscribe at any time.)

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