This election season is over. And it’s not how this (nasty) woman would have liked it to go. While watching the electoral votes come in I picked every scab I ever had and fell asleep with a heavy heart, dreaming about being afraid at gas stations in the middle of the country for some reason.
I am grateful I do not hold my heart like a fist. Today I am sad, but my heart is not tight. My heart is disappointed and sure, a little sacred. I feel “other,” marginalized, out of step with, apparently, most of “my” country.
Even though my spirit feels kicked in the nuts, and “we” lost, that doesn’t have to mean LOVE loses — like the end of The Grinch we can at least have some light because it’s in us. That said, I am sad today. I’m not in shadow, because I don’t choose from a place of shadow. And a taste of this shadow makes me want to barf. How dark and scared a place is that makes this kind of choice for our world. And who’s “our” anymore?
As I feel the umbrella of shadow encroaching I breathe and listen to Hillary’s concession speech and cry into my cat’s belly fur. I will approach with the “open mind” she mentions, but I’ll also hope that this man is a lot of hot air, without a hair-trigger on The Button.
The popular vote shows that a majority believes similar to me, to put it in overly simplistic terms. That was somewhat of a comfort, because at first I felt like the majority of the country wanted me and “my kind,” whatever that means (dyed haired liberal weirdos?), dead. So to consider that Hillary got more votes is something, yet this is just another giant slap in the face to my fellow Americans and humans that aren’t actually “other,” they’re us.
I liked reading several beacons of hope on Instagram, including yogi Guru Singh and Qoya founder Rochelle Schieck. Singh talks about noise versus signal in the growth of human consciousness, and how it’s our job to suss out the signal from all the noise. Schieck writes about being able to hold and accept a paradox of belief from our fellow humans and trusting that love always wins.
This came to me via Linda Sivertsen:
The below came to my attention via Danielle LaPorte. Rochelle Schieck's movement ritual practice of Qoya completely helped save me last winter. She is wise and gets to wisdom through the body.
I appreciate this perceptive from Karen Brown, a friend of a friend: "I can't get on the ‘it's going to be OK’ positive bandwagon. It's not for women, it's not for people of color, it's not for immigrants, it's not for LGBTQ ... so please, beautiful, loving, positive, particularly white straight friends, please understand that I can't be in that place today. I know you mean well, but take a moment to check your privilege before expecting everyone to dust off and move on.”
One heartening chart shows “how the future voted,” with most of the country so blue from 18-25 year olds’ votes that Hillary would have gotten 504 electoral votes and Trump only 23. So perhaps we’ll move forward eventually with equality after all. Someday.
Progress hurts, I know. Especially when it feels like going backward.
It's me, Jennifer Bernice (rhymes with "Furnace": it was my Granny's name) Sutkowski
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