I wish I had a potent line to share about power tonight – a little gem to take your smallness and your fear and your fatigue to brighter places.
I wish I had the Universe figured out, and could state with surety my stance on when to listen/wait, and when to use your own guts and grit to go lasso the moon.
I wish I knew better how to navigate the community that lives inside each of us – inside me – with its adult personas, and all of those children: the ones that insist the sky is always falling, and the ones that trust with unguarded hearts, and the ones that know chocolate could save us all.
I wish I could know and do so much!
Instead, I sit here with my questions, and my fears, and my fatigue. I sit here more aware, tonight, of the weight we all carry than of our wings. And the streak in me that has refused since early childhood to lacquer the rough and the raw with saccharine platitudes digs its back feet in.
“Won’t do it,” she says.
Here’s what I can say:
I’ve suffered greatly in my life, knowing darkness so deep I forgot the look of light.
That theodicy speech that Ivan gives in the Brothers Karamazov? I could have written it.
I’ve known existential angst better than the backs of my hands.
And yet. Or, rather, nevertheless.
I see light spilling through the cracks of my life and our world now.
I see it creeping under closed doors and walled off hearts.
I see it cascading with spilled milk and the blood of war and the tears that fall from our faces.
I see its flame now, right now, as I stare at this screen, typing through my own feelings of smallness.
The light doesn’t answer questions or lasso any moons, but its a thread that I watch, weaving us all together. Weaving something soft I can rest my cheek against in the darkness.
Weaving a net that can catch us, repeatedly, as we fall and fall and fall into what my subjective experience can only trust is love.