home: May the Fourth



I've been offline for two days (my last post was technically a day early, just before midnight). Recharging. Oh it felt good, not to be hyper connected. I want to do that more often.

At the same time, I returned to terrible news. And I'm part of the world, the news about the House of Representatives passing this appalling "repeal and replace" affects me. Affects my family. In deeply, deeply terrifying ways.

Yet. There's hope.

Hope.

I haven't written much about my word of the year. Honestly, all hope seemed lost for awhile there. February and March were deeply depressing. April wasn't much better.

Not much has changed in May except that the world is green and this is my time of year, despite my itchy eyes and asthma. May brings me hope, just in and of itself.

This beautiful world.

Yes, there is pain. And death is inevitable. Decay happens.

This beautiful world, where compost becomes roses becomes food for insects becomes food for reptiles becomes food for mammals becomes shit becomes roses (and so on).

We are one.

Interconnected, intertwined.

Always.

And that's the source of my hope. Which might seem lost, at times. Nonexistent.

But while we are breathing, there is hope.

There is hope.

In the rebellion, in the resistance, in the building of coalitions and communities.

Hope persists, because it must. Because we must.

Because we are still alive.

We are one with the force and the force is with us.

Hope falters. Hope falls. Hope gets chained up in the basement while anxiety runs wild.

But hope is still there. Waiting.

This beautiful world. That's how I reconnect to my hopefulness. The beauty of vibrant color, of the helpful side of human culture, the tenciousness of nature, of the awesomeness of life.

I found that spark of hope. I'm going to tend to its flame.