A Handful of Seeds
A post-election inventory
I long to share something helpful and wise, taking a long view of this day and having a supportive role in the health of my friends. What I have, though, is a list. Maybe some of it reflects your own list, and in that way, our shared experience is mutually helpful.
Today I have:
Feeling in my feet, legs, and body, a sign that I’m still here and not disassociated.
An agitated nervous system, a sign that I’m afraid.
Fog in my chest, a sign I’ve lost something important.
Clear sight through the illusion that women’s rights are guaranteed. I feel its impact on my role as an American woman.
An urge to share something helpful and validating.
Chosen family that is aligned with reality and not in denial about an outcome they disagree with.
A circle of beloved friends and allies who tell the truth and don’t spread disinformation.
Leftovers from a nightmare about being an 80-year-old woman forced to prove I was not pregnant.
A son who is cheerful and wants to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, even if that means becoming a ghost Jedi.
A partner to hold hands with while we face an uncertain future.
A safe place to rest and belong while I compose myself.
A pull toward supporting, gathering, and strengthening bonds between women.
The arrival of dark-eyed juncos, my favorite harbinger of winter.
A handful of echinacea seeds to cast hope into the future.
Trust that while I will take action, it is enough to experience grief for today.
I too am working through the overwhelming weight of grief. The sense of loss is immediate and futuristic simultaneously. I know with a fair amount of certainty what they want to create, and feel the shadows gathering into the storm they promise, all while they smile and promise to protect us. But the loss is greater than their dreams, it is the loss of what I believed to be true. The death I feel is the faith in better angels, a perception that somehow this darkness would be beaten back and light would prevail. The shock lies in the realization that those angels might have had darker feathers than I wanted to see. And seeing them with their true faces shatters my heart. It is not only that I feel endangered by their presence, but that I feel their presence was always there and I was the one not living in reality. I am grieving the image of what I thought existed, and am coping with the epiphany that this was their face all along.
This is beautiful and inspiring, thank you Shea from a sister Writer in the Dark.