1/22/25

By Joshua Rubin

I grew up near the ocean, so I was early exposed to forces much greater than any I could muster, even in the youngest days of my life where infantile feelings of omnipotence cushioned me somewhat from insignificance. The ocean and I reached a bargain while I was young. I would yield to the overwhelming strength of its waves and currents and tides, but I was free to swim about during the long deep breaths that the water took between each show of force.

I could duck under, dive deep, while above me the world roared, and I would then rise up, face into the air for my own small share of life. And that I am here, writing today, testifies to the success of the strategy. One cannot survive without acknowledging the power of the forces that sweep through our lives, whether they are oceanic or historic. Very simply, they are bigger than we are. Indeed, so big that they seem not even to know I exist.

But I do exist, and so do we all until we don’t. And if we want to continue our existences, and still want to swim close to mindless power, we must make our mindful calculation. We will need to use the moments that the unthinking and overwhelming tides in the affairs of men (and women) take their groaning pauses, to regather strength. And in those moments, carry at least one stone to pile on a breakwater.

There was such a moment at Tornillo, where a small tidal pool of circumstance allowed a few people to build a cairn to mark a children’s prison, and later at Homestead, another. The currents we face are more powerful than ever, and though they threaten to drown us, they are not our enemy. In fact, we will need to learn in our own small way to navigate in them. To take deep breaths when we can, and to hold on for dear life when we must.

And to pile stones, one by one, all of us.