drum circle

This afternoon, I visited Meridian Hill Park in NW Washington, DC for the first time and witnessed the famous Sunday afternoon drum circle. IT. WAS. BEAUTIFUL.

I sat out in the park, watching a wonderfully diverse group of something like 15-20 people with West African drums, Asian drums, drums taken off of rock drum kits, all moving and following the same group cadence that swelled and died down like one unit. With the light breeze, 70-degree weather, and bright Spring sunshine cutting through the budding trees, it felt like a perfect afternoon.

I had one particularly strange experience, though. Nothing overt, offensive, or scary, though. Just tears. While listening to the drums and looking at the group drumming, moving, swaying, an elderly couple, an old man in tattered clothes pushing a simple wheelchair carrying an old woman in worn clothes, came to the circle. The old woman's face lit up as she listened to the drums, and the old man took his seat in the circle, borrowing another person's drum to join the rhythm. For some reason, the sight of them brought to life by the sounds and the sun, the thought of this old woman relying on her old male companion to live each day made me think of all the difficulties that people fight each day and night, and I started crying. I have no idea what made my mind wander that way. Perhaps a product of my work.

I spend 40-45 hours a week thinking, reading, writing, and analyzing data about those who are barely hanging onto their dignity and their lives, forced to cash in their retirement funds to pay to keep the lights on at night; driven to live in anonymity and silence for fear of being sent away from their children, their families, their homes; waking to the expectation that each day will bring a torrent of verbal, physical, and mental abuse from hateful peers and classmates; and so many other tragedies.

I always thought that studying these things would lead me to a greater appreciation of things that I do have. I think that is the case, but it's also bestowed me with the constant awareness of the pain, the difficulty, and suffering that is experienced by another person at the same time that I get to sit in the sun, feeling the comforting warmth on my face, listening to the beating of a circle of drums at the park.