PARKLAND & CORAL SPRINGS FLORIDA • MSD STRONG

Seventeen Funerals

by Richard Blanco

Seventeen suns rising in seventeen bedroom windows. Thirty four eyes blooming open with the light of one more morning.

Seventeen reflections in the bathroom mirror. Seventeen bags stuffed with textbooks and lesson plans.

Seventeen “good mornings” at kitchen breakfasts and seventeen “goodbyes” at front doors.

Seventeen drives through palm-lined streets and miles of crammed highways to Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, at 5901 Pine Island Road.

The first bell ringing in one last school day on February 14, 2018.

Seventeen echoes of footsteps down hallways for five class periods: algebra, poetry, biology, art and history. Seventeen hands writing on whiteboards or taking notes at their desks until the first gunshot at 2:21p.m. One AR-15 rifle in the hands of a nineteen-year-old mind turning hate for himself into hate for others, into one hundred fifty bullets fired in six minutes, through building number twelve.

Seventeen dead carried down hallways they walked, past cases of trophies they won, flyers for clubs they belonged to, lockers they will not open again. Seventeen Valentine’s Day dates broken and cards unopened.

Seventeen bodies to identify, dozens of photo albums to page through and remember their lives. Seventeen caskets and burial garments to choose for them. Seventeen funerals to attend in twelve days. Seventeen graves dug and headstones placed—all marked with the same date of death.

Seventeen names: Alyssa. Helena. Scott. Martin. Seventeen absentees forever: Nicholas. Aaron. Jamie. Luke. Seventeen closets to clear out: Christopher. Cara. Gina. Joaquin. Seventeen empty beds: Alaina. Meadow. Alex. Carmen. Peter. Seventeen reasons to rebel with the hope that these are the last seventeen to be taken by one of the three-hundred-ninety-three million guns in America!

T E M P L E

O F TIME

PARKLAND & CORAL SPRINGS FLORIDA MSD STRONG

There is always the need to carry on.

Marjorie Stoneman Douglas

Dear Temple Crew

When I first heard about this project I wasn’t sure what to expect. All I knew was that a bunch of strangers were coming to my home and creating art that was supposed to erase the hurt a little.

I arrived at the build site about two weeks ago, having never used a saw, staple/nail gun or a level, and I definitely hadn’t heard the phrase DBS before.

In the past few weeks, you gave immeasurable amounts of patience, guidance, kindness and advice. I lost a lot of family in the past few years and last year was incredibly challenging.

I was searching for a way to find peace in this world. In the small time we spent together, you each shed some light on the path to finding peace.

Like everyone of those goddamn little pieces of wood that were glued into the floor boards and the alter, you have all given me a little piece of our hearts. I cannot thank you enough for the love and light you brought into my life and I truly hope to see you all again.

Thank you for your time and for what you gave to my community. I am forever grateful for this experience.

All of my love.

Rachel Schapiro-- volunteer

A Letter to the Crew:

This is my mantra through grief:

We build something people may use in their process of healing, their process of forgiveness. It is a release. Or, at least, a step along their journey towards release.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve, no timetable for how long it takes. Grieving can take many forms: anger, desperation, sorrow, too many to count…

Always hold grief in two hands— Sorrow, irrevocable change in one hand. Love, wonder and gratitude in the other.

Helping to heal others is helping to heal ourselves.

Together we build something. We call it a Temple—Temple of Time— built with intention, sharing knowledge of building tools, artistic insights and the soft light of the quiet understanding that we all share grief together. We are artists, makers, builders, humans. And we care deeply.

We all share grief, no matter our philosophy, religion, politics, moral codes or dogmas; we all walk this journey. For a brief moment we do it together. In that moment, there is empathy and understanding. There are no words for it, but our grandmothers, children, truck drivers, first responders, parents—all who feel it—understand it without explanation.

In a sideways world, there are few things that may bring optimism. This is one.

I’m not saying this should be anyone else’s philosophy… I’m simply sharing mine.

To this group of illustrious humans…I love and cherish you…it was my honor to work beside you. See you in Florida!

Much love to you,

Dash

Proud to be an Eagle

I am so Sorry this world could not keep you Safe May your journey home be a soft and peaceful one

But our empty seats will never be filled and our empty hearts will never be filled

“Love people man. Nothing to it. Just love those around you. It will really make that much of a difference in your or anyones life.” Joaquin Oliver

“Dreams and dedication are a powerful combination.” Jaime Guttenburg

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

Those who died yesterday had plans for his morning. And those who died this morning had plans for tonight. Don’t take life for granted. In the blink of an eye, everything can change. So forgive often and love with all your heart. You may never get to have the chance again.

Pain is a terrible thing and you cannot avoid it. But it comes with a choice as to whether or not it makes you a better person… And if you let it make you a better person, you’re already one step closer to healing it 17 be

Positive

Passionate Proud to be an

EAGLE

Naming the Temple

We all felt it. But we didn’t yet know what this Temple would say.

Coral Springs city called, “We need a name for your Temple.” We thought—Temple of Healing? Maggie and David called me.

“You lost a daughter, you know the difficult feelings around the anniversary. What do you think of the name, Temple of Healing?”

I felt my reaction immediately. “NO!”

We can’t offer healing. We can’t tell, suggest, provide, advocate or propose how to grieve.

“Think about it, get back to us. We need an answer by today.”

I thought back to the Temple we built in Ireland in 2015. It was 45 years after the Troubles, but pain still festered in the hearts of a divided city.

A city with one of the highest suicide rates in Western Europe. Sandinos, an artist and play director, stood outside smoking cigarettes at the local bar and challenged me:

“You guys building that Temple—what is it?”, he demanded.Before I could answer he continued, “People come here every year, offering us their religions and ideals. Who are you to think you have the right to try to heal us?” Anger, frustration, resentment and an ancient sadness were distilled in his voice.

“We are a group of artists, a group of people, building a Temple on top of that hill. We’re out here in the snow, sleet, rain, drizzle and mud, building this thing. It’s a gift, just a beautiful thing for your town, for you.”

“We’re all artists here! Look around these tables—musicians, poets, painters, actors. You don’t think we’re artists? You don’t think we can take care of ourselves?” Pints of Guinness, shots of whiskey, music, laughter, some kind of golden light around the bar, yes… who are we?

Sandionos

Night of the Ireland burn

“I don’t know that much. I know my grief, I lost a daughter, a 20-year-old beautiful girl, an amazing artist. I’m here because of her. I’m not telling anyone how to grieve. I’m offering something beautiful for you to place something that you may wish to release. It’s there if you need it or want it.” I felt his anger, which felt intimidating, but deeply raw and incredibly real. He offered me a glimpse of his pain. He waved his hand in a final declaration,

“You watch a friend get murdered and tell me about it!” and he stormed off into the rainy night. His friends apologized. I waved it off and went back inside. Later in the evening, he returned and found me.

“I want to say I’m sorry for how I reacted to you,” he said. We held eyes.

“You do not have to apologize to me,” I said.

Shots of Ireland Temple

“Still, I had no right to say…” he paused, unable to finish his sentence.

I began,“Honestly, it was my honor to hear you and feel what it means to live in your city; an honor that you told me those things…”

We embraced and called it a night.

“Hey!”, he shouted.

I turned to face him. Rainy, windy night, street lights reflecting off the angles of water. “I’m very sorry for the loss of your daughter. Truly. Bless you brother!”

So often, when anger is thrown as a dagger, the common reaction is fight or flight. Grief-anger is a different kind of grief. It is a wounded animal, asking for help, not knowing how to ask for help, and not wanting help, all at the same time.

I learned something that night that changed many things. Who are we to tell people how to heal? So. Not Temple of Healing.

Temple of Hope Temple of Compassion Temple of Resource Temple of Unity

The first year, the year of first…is so easy to trigger grief and anxiety and anguish.

David suggests Temple of Time.

Soft, symbolic, meaningful; it doesn’t sound religious or pious, it can evolve with significance during the first-year anniversary of the murder of 14 children and three teachers, the wounding of 17 other children, and the two towns that are still in shock and PTSD from February 14, 2018.

Some Trepidation

David returned from his second meeting with the town, and brought with him the pressure that the town felt. He told a story about a woman who spoke to him after a talk and told him that she did want the mem ory of her daughter to have anything to do with something that would be burned. She explained that her grandparents were burned by the Nazis and her sister was burned in a car crash when she was a child. Da vid came home reeling and concerned about how to move forward. He felt crushed. As he shared the story, we all felt the weight.

Would the families accept this Temple? Would the Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High school students accept it? Would they see this as a resource for healing or would they see this as some kind of presumptuous Burning Man inspired artist group?

They had asked us to come. So we had made our plans and reservations.

We build Temples. We are not a Burning Man group. We are not a right-wing gun club… on either sides of that vast spectrum,

we do not take sides. We have no agenda, but to build and share a process and listen to stories and share ours. If someone asks a question, we answer thoughtfully. If someone doesn’t know how to use a tool, we teach considerately. Who knows what brings them.

When we were invited to go the the Smithsonian, I was overjoyed. Washington, D.C., Smithsonian. I admit I was excited to tell people. I posted on social media, called my family and told my friends. But, I felt so quiet about this build, about this project in Florida. It felt tender and vulnerable, as if we announced it in the wrong context; even a small conversation out loud could butterfly affect this into something unreal. We didn’t know.

Quiet mind. No expectations. No agendas. No affiliations. Temple mantra: We build this Temple for one person.

The dictionary defines Bodhisattva: A being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to “help” others….

I practiced no expectations, no agenda. Bodhisattva vow.

I take a moment and think about how this will (hopefully) manifest. The first day, no one shows up… just us. We sort our tools. We review materials. We scribe lines for post layouts and structural elements. We set up work stations. And then, a few people arrive, a few kids after school may help. Each day, a few more people arrive. Slowly gaining momentum. I tried not to imagine conversations or dialogues—just smooth transitions of people arriving to help us build, allowing relationships to forge by the comradely friendship of building something significant together. I looked forward to slowly learning about this community. By the last day, there would be community all around. Supportive and connected. The last day would just be us, and as we opened the Temple on February 14, there would be a wonderful flow of humanity arriving, to leave something, write something or feel something at this Temple that we built.