Natural disasters are heart breaking, but man-made disasters chip into your soul.

My grandfather told me in the early 1980s, “One of these days, we’re gonna take so much oil and minerals out of the earth that we’re just gonna spin outta orbit.”

With the ongoing bleed in the Gulf of Mexico, that day may come sooner than later. I can’t read or watch the oil spill anymore. It’s like watching someone bleed to death or worse.

“Until someone applies a tourniquet,” I think, “I gotta turn away.” For a little while anyway.

So when an invitation came from my husband to have a “quiet dinner out” — I was glad and definitely game.

The week had been crazy for P and me both. Now settled and just the two of us at the table, the conversation moved from one subject to the next as leisurely as if we were meandering through an old house or strolling on a beach at sunset. I don’t remember any topic in particular. Just that the conversation was easy and rolled like a brook. At least until I felt compelled to ask a question that had been simmering in my heart for some time.

“I’ve a question for you P,” I prefaced.

“OK, “ he said, “lay it on me.”

“Why is there so much suffering?"

He looked at me puzzled at first like he wanted to ask, “Animal, vegetable or mineral?” I explained that it wasn’t a “test” question or “trick” either. That considering all that was going on in the world, the question had crossed my mind. Like how a ripple, once a wave, quietly sweeps ashore.

“So I’m wondering,” I repeated, ”why do you think there’s so much suffering?"

I hadn’t the slightest intent for the conversation to go where it did but nevertheless, it did. Due south. Our stroll on the beach suddenly became a political debate that then turned heated.

P would later explain, “You know I’m a ‘Policy’ guy so I always think policy first.” I knew and understood this well but my question was entirely apolitical and born from the heart not the brain.

Still living there but now … searching for something. Not like being in the throes of white water rapids and needing a rock to hold on to. More like rooting around for a piece of driftwood … wanting to float down stream with.

P and I never did get back to my question. Once in the car, we concluded that it was best to make peace and move on. We agreed to disagree and declared the debate “over.”

Nevertheless, my question continued to simmer quietly. And the Gulf continues to bleed.

Going small

Truth is, I was looking for relief, not really answers. The second truth is, there aren’t any answers.

Only acts, and I believe in them. The smallest most of all. (Imagine what the Gulf would look like now had everyone seen after the small stuff?)

Small acts move mountains.

The 20 bucks you just gave might feel like hundreds to the recipient. The 15 minutes you spent taking an animal out of a cage and into the outdoors or your arms, changed a world.

Next time you see something in your house that doesn’t belong indoors (I’m excluding roaches) try setting it free rather than smashing it … whether it’s as small as a gnat or is one.

It’ll make you feel good. All the way down to the soles of your shoes. A friend, also a bird rehabilitator, believes, “Every time we save a bird, we save ourselves.” I believe my bird friend will be busy for who knows how long. In whatever way, shape or form, I hope all of us will be rehabilitators.

As individuals, we may not be able to stop the bleeding but we all belong to the same body that is. Maybe we can act how the human body re-acts!

When a gash has occurred … all the other parts instinctively kick in to help aid the injury. Considering the size of the gash in the Gulf (who knows if it’s growing), recovery may require generations (as in people too).

In an interview recently, Tavis Smiley asked Alice Walker about two of her latest books, Overcoming Speechlessness and The World Has Changed. Holding his hand open and against his chest, Smiley told her that in all of her books, there seemed to be something “heavy” she was carrying inside, “something right here,” he said, pressing deeper into his chest.

“Am I right about this?” he asked with visible earnest.

With an ever-so-slight smile that looked both sad and sweet Walker answered, “Yes, you’re exactly right, Tavis. It’s the burden of Love…isn’t it.”

Her reply hadn’t the faintest sound of a question … only the sound of wisdom and compassion, shared.

Finally, I felt relief.