Friday, February 25, 2022
Someday, I hope to come back to this post, and breath a sigh of relief, think to myself it wasn't as horrible as we dreaded, they did not go as far as we feared. But today, Russia is invading Ukraine, bombing their cities, fulfilling threats, spreading propaganda, and they are applauded by prominent Republicans in the United States. Such waves of grief and foreboding have a grip on me, and disgust. I admit to being naive, to having fully expected a bright, promising Spring, progressive strides, days near at hand when we lift each other up, rally for justice, quash racism and racist systems, disdain greed, and lift up learning, healthcare, gentle acts. Instead, we are derailed by fear mongering, and hateful decrees against Trans youth, against the autonomy of women over our own bodies. Insurrection against Democracy is hardly addressed, and as it is, it is slow, suspiciously, ploddingly slow. Braver people than I will make their travel plans, and soíree. I feel too turned around, sad, worn, to move forward, to think of doing happy things, making happy plans, and I feel guilty, too, because my life is good, and safe. It's the weight of trauma, of wading through these Pandemic years, knowing our planet ails, and people hurting, it's being disconsolate for the suffering that makes me heavy, slows my steps, and I feel a hopelessness, a shadow that I don't remember, or know, how to scatter away.
Someone once assumed that I didn't read the news, was not staying informed. They took my penchant for cats and chickens, cakes, and aprons, my whimsical leanings for blissful ignorance, and a casual indifference to the state of affairs. That is not the case. I do read the news, and follow stories, listen to accounts of all kinds of histories, and current events, causes, rallies, and in recent years I have redoubled my efforts to listen more, read more, and learn more. But the truth is, there is always a time when I can't absorb more. There is a tipping point, where after one more report, another account of terror or cruelty, and I am ineffectual. I withdraw, and despair. To stay present, and engaged, to do good works, I cannot assimilate every disaster, then work at fathoming how to save the world. In fact, it sounds like a kind of arrogance to imagine I would assume this role. I do tune in, empathize, and imagine the anguish of others. Those struggles and issues that others are suffering, inform my voting, what I share, who I support, what I purchase, how I conduct myself. More simply, I am a better gardener than soldier. I am more adept at sharing eggs and lemons from our garden than testifying before a council. My activism, my rallying cries for social justice, and peace are in our Little Free Library, in Craft Camp for neighbor's children, in mentoring, donating, contributing, in sharing seeds, fabric, recipes, in posting cat pictures, and adopting chickens to help a friend...
I don't know what I am trying to say. I often don't know what I am trying to say, but I'll post it anyway! But this... these events, and the consequences, the state of the world, matters. I can't be shallow, or muddled, not about this. I connect with Paula Sutton's post, when she wrote, "Before anyone mentions other tragedies and other causes beyond those of today, believe me, I ache for all of them, but for the most part I choose to be an oasis of calm for those who need an escape from the relentlessness of horrific news and the struggles of life. Tonight however, I think I’ve reached a tipping point. Tonight I feel too sad and too angry for the world. So until tomorrow - here’s a sunset instead." Like Paula, I love the pretty images, and the acts of love, the affirmations, and hopeful gestures. I am imagining peace, and willing it, praying for it, and voting for peace. I am centering my beliefs, and actions, my hopes, and thoughts on peace. And I am going to sit here, a minute, and try to remember how to scatter the shadows away.
Bird House Notes: It rained. It hailed. It's still cold. We had some weather. There was even snow in lower elevations, like where my brother lives. I was glad the hail wasn't heavy. I ran out into the thick of it when I remembered my daffodils are really taking off, to take a picture, in case the weather would thrash them. Gosh, those bulbs are making me happy. Rain, bulbs, bathroom progress, cats on my lap... in truth, every bit is necessary, helps. The news, and other things, are heavy, and we need comforts, hope. I am naive, more than I like to admit, and maybe that's a good thing, because I never want to see hate and violence as inevitable. Peace, peace, peace. Keep fostering and demanding peace. February 24, 2022
Bird House Notes: I love my home, and the comforts I enjoy here, but everything loses its flavor, it's beauty, a bit more every time I hear of bombs falling, of people fleeing, hiding. Wealth with greed is abhorrent, casual violence by choice is disgraceful, hate, oppression, and cruelty are the lowest forms of behavior. Good things are better shared on this one planet we should call Our Home. February 26, 2022