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The night before the earthquake hit, I was studying a teaching about human connection and how it is our highest need. The teacher argued that it’s our most important need, as human beings. I contemplated the hierarchy of needs before sleeping, and had a chance to (spontaneously) test her theory the next morning. In that split second of terror, where the world was out of my control, my braided rivers of consciousness pulled together in a single stream. I thought only of my family. I was aware of the sounds of glass breaking, and in the back of my mind, I thought “that’s OK." All of my worldly longing was for the safety of my loved ones. It wasn’t on things. Even food and shelter took a back seat to the priority of connecting with beloved humans.
I had the same realization when my son passed. With the phone pressed to my ear and my stomach dropping, I took in the news that he was gone from the world and knew: The only thing that matters is love. We can’t take any of this with us. The most fulfilling “thing” is our connection to other humans. Yet, we often block connection through pettiness or letting our personal wounds get the best of us. The teacher said that when a human faces rejection, the nervous system registers it as a threat no different than a sabertooth tiger attacking. Connection is that important to survival. Rejection is deadly.
It’s a hero’s journey to be “in this world but not of it." Maybe it’s a trek best mapped in the moment, without much thought to the past or the future. Because, in the split second of facing earthly disaster or tragedy, it’s easy to see: The thing that matters most is our love and connection to other human beings.
Chantelle Pence is the author of “Homestead Girl: The View From Here.”
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