This morning I found myself reflecting on a reality that I’ve been wanting to deny: fall is here. That means darker, shorter days. It means wetter days. It means colder days. I’ve long said that one of my favorite days of the year is the winter solstice, because starting that day, each day gets a little bit longer. But the fall, well I’ve always thought of it as a season to just get through.
Part of what I’ve been reflecting on is how, if anything, this desire to ‘get through’ a full 25% of the year is a symptom of my disconnection from the natural cycles of things. Everything moves in cycles. At least, everything that naturally occurs within the world. The seasons are maybe some of the most tangible cycles that we can experience, so it would make sense that they might be a place to notice where we are out of sync.
And why wouldn’t we be? We’ve built a world that is all about being out of sync. Indeed, it’s a world that promises to sell you back the experience of being in sync. I could write on and on about this, but don’t have time before dinner.
I think my point here is that the seasons can be a finger pointing at a greater truth: being in sync with the natural rhythms of the world is life-giving. And so what does this say about my (our) relationship with life? What might we do differently? How might we begin to adjust this relationship?
To start, I’m going to take a breath and try to appreciate this fall. Not try to get through it; to experience it.
We can’t rely on our systems to save us. They perform as designed. If you have a system that can elect a president that the minority of people voted for, it is working as designed. If you have a system that continuously disenfranchise members of a specific community — be they BIPOC, LGBTQ, and others — it is working as designed.
We’re six weeks away from the election. If we are relying on our systems — be they electoral, judicial, or otherwise — to save us, we are sunk.
The only thing that can ultimately save us is us waking up to our ability to ask what we want, and then to build new systems. Systems that work as designed…to serve us all.
What was I going to write about?
I had this topic. It felt alive and juicy . I remember thinking, ’yeah, that’s a good one. I have some things to say about that.
I was straightening up in the kitchen, and thought, ‘oh, when I’m done here, I’m going to go write that blog post. The one about….’
That was it. Poof. Like smoke. No, not like smoke, because smoke dissipates (and if you’re on the West coast, you know that smoke does not necessarily dissipate). Poof…like steam? I dunno. Gone, anyway.
I’m not sure if this is just me trying to remember what I was going to write about, or simply me trying to convince myself that I had something good. Maybe it’s both. Or neither. All we can say is that it’s compelling.
That’s it. That’s what I’ve got for you today. May you and yours be healthy and well.
Revisiting something I wrote last year, I’m reflecting on what I started two years ago.
I’ve written less in the second year than in the first. But this time I’m commemorating on the actual anniversary! (And even with a second post).
I’m not going to count how many posts there are. It’s not important. What is important, to me at least, is the ongoing nature of this thing. It’s still here. So am I. What might year three bring?
Happy two years, Liberat.es.
No bright siding here
The world feels like it’s coming to an end. It really does. And perhaps it is. They say that the world is always ending and beginning again. We’ve had many an apocalypse. Many in a lifetime. Perhaps this is just one. Who knows. Regardless, it sure as hell feels like it’s coming to an end. At least to me[^2].
I could list all of the things compounding to make it feel as if there is an ending approaching, but that feels like it would just be redundant. I’ll just name the most recent thing: smoke. It blankets our city, and has for nearly a week. I haven’t been able to enjoy a walk in a while. And I’m one of the lucky ones. My house still stands. My friends and family are healthy and safe. I have income.
Here’s the thing: yes, it feels like the world is ending. And that’s okay. I’m good with feeling that. I’m going to feel it as best I can while it’s here. I’m not going to push it away or search for the silver lining or the silver bullet (to, you know, feel better). I’m going to just let it be here as long as it needs be.
Imagine if we could just feel it all. What might that give us?
A bit on dreaming
I want to write about our capacity to dream, but I’m unsure how to go about it. I’m unsure that my view on it is broad enough. Something’s been moving in me for a little while, and I’m trying to find my way toward it. It’s a message about seeing the world through a larger lens, but I find myself being limited in my own view of things. I find myself afraid that I have too many blinds spots to be able to see clearly what needs seeing here.
Part of this is this view I have that we — and there’s much that can be said about ’we’ — have been losing our capacities to dream. Collectively, we have become more and more narrow in what we believe to be possible, preventing us from actually being able to enter into a conversation about ways to address the greatest challenges we face: racism, global warming, and the inequities of our economic system. These issues are not going anywhere. Without new and meaningful approaches to shifting them, we will be crushed in their path.
Nearly 58 years ago, JFK announced that we would send men to the moon. It took less than seven years to make it happen. It took an enormous amount of collective dreaming to make that happen. We stand at the precipice of multiple disasters, each unfolding before our eyes, and we can’t get movement. It’s not just division that makes this true. It’s also our capacity to dream. In order to get beyond our divisions, we’re going to have to dream our way there.
It’s interesting — that last paragraph is not a direction I’d intended to go. I’m curious to explore it some more. In the meantime, I continue to sit with the inquiry, and will continue to do the writing that’s been calling to me — finding a way into an invitation. I’m beginning to see that the invitee, at least for the moment, is me.