Outrage in response to horror—to brutal, fatal abuses of power—is a justifiable, even a useful response if it results in a full measure of attempted personal justice and systemic change. But I don’t think having a nation of folks running around furious and hollering—about everything from an M&M marketing campaign to the latest tweet from a white libertarian tech bro to gargantuan acts of violence that actually warrant howls from the depths of the soul— serves us well, engages and enlarges our humanity, connects us to our better angels and each other. And instead of the turned-inward, opposite response—wallowing in sorrow—I would like to sit in quiet, with a fierce, meditative focus on witnessing Tyre Nichols’ mother and all the other mothers of those children—grown and still growing—whose lives have not been valued by structures and people of power, who have not been treated with the respect and dignity they deserve, who have not had the chance to grow up, to grow more. We could include in our witnessing this week families in Ukraine and Russia, families in Palestine and Israel, families and Monterey Park and Half Moon Bay, families all around our blue-green earth and our beloveds. How can we shift the tide of violence and bring a surfeit of peace? And when?