Weeping Day

“When we can no longer think, reason or manage our way out of the crisis we find ourselves in – then what we are left with is instinct…”
~Sharon Blackie

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The wide expanse of Wednesday has long been my precious writing day.

Enter the 2016 election cycle.

I weep now as much as I write, now more than ever, except for once, when I was home alone, in the eighth grade, on a Sunday afternoon, and the television played Born Free.

But that was a flood of grief at once, and this has been leaking for weeks, even before 11/9, ever since the tape–the one that reminded me what it is to be a woman in the United States.

I am heartbroken.

It may be that the President Elect reminds me too much of my paternal figure. (Charismatic. Entitled.) It may be that he reminds me of all the entitled men who degrade and diminish and detract from women around the world throughout time, and even now. Even now.

It may be that all the personal work I’ve done in the past decades has ripened me, perfectly, for this moment.

It may be that my 53 year old hormones are wreaking havoc on my system.

It is probably all of the above.

The wide expanse of Wednesday is now my weeping day.

I weep for all I cannot do.
I weep in confusion.
I weep in angst.
I weep in hopelessness.
I weep in beauty.
I weep in tenderness.

Who has tricked us into seeing each other as opposites?

I went to sleep last night in peace. Softened by yoga and community and home and creativity. I woke at 4 am with a migraine. Angry. Fearful. Despairing.

My thoughts turned to the wasteland of remaining voices vying for prominence on Facebook, and still, come morning, I logged on.

And there it was…

A tag, from a radically right friend, who was offering, not the typical Idiot or Stupid or Witch, but a holiday memory, of years ago, that almost thawed my heart.

There was second tag, from a more progressive friend, who was offering, not the typical Hate or Terror or Can You Believe, but a video of her child singing an Irish lullaby.

I began to soften.
I turned on my Wednesday morning meditation.
I wept.
I arrived here.
Empty-handed.

What I want is for you to see me, not as “other.”
I want you to see me in the fullness of my humanity
just as I’ve failed to see you.

Let’s refuse the caricature.

Give up the fight of us and them.

Flesh out our humanity so that we find more meeting places.

There is only now.
There are no bad guys.
We are the guys.
And we are writing history.

~

May wisdom prevail in the United States.
The Liberty Bell Moment.
Each evening at 9 pm.
http://bell.wiseusa.net/liberty_bell_minute_meditation

ps. back to action tomorrow. thursday is my reading day.

~

For those who are grieving. More context:
Why I’m Still Crying Over Hillary Clinton’s Loss.

 

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5 comments

  1. Oh Kelly. Oh lovely woman. Oh lovely human being. I am just writing a play (GALATEA) about all you feel and say. I hope I am able to express it half so well as you have done. Love. Juliene (sister, mother, lover, friend)

    Like

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