I don't have any answers, but I do hear the call

Since early November, my attention has been mindfully offered to history, the path prior to this moment (by decades, centuries, and millennia), the overarching cultural narratives and myths, and the meaning I make of it all with my very limited, yet persistently curious mind. My focus has been soft, not narrow; zoomed out, not in. A wider net to hopefully catch more nuance and context. I’ve made this choice because I feel frail these days, both in physical and mental health, and I wanted to protect my psyche and nervous system from the chaos and noise, at least, leading up to inauguration. The break has been a much needed respite.

Today, the levees between the fevers of the world and my fragile sanctuary are beginning to break. Alas, I must face the fact that I cannot hold this boundary on my own.

Sitting across from people making themselves vulnerable to me, day after day, most of whom seek psychological refuge in the brief sacred space we create together — it is painfully evident to me, that I have become a person people seek for answers. This taps at my levee.

I imagine there are many of us including mothers and fathers, teachers, and friends, 'experts' and elders... being sought for the answer that will soothe the suffering.

Easy answers in this day and age are tied to price tags and tolls to pay. Rarely is an answer easily given, truly medicinal for the questioner.

In a culture that has redefined itself in less than a century on favoring quick fixes over patience and perseverance, we are now thrust into collective existential crisis and realizing that the strength we need for this moment, has atrophied.

The fabric of our collective has worn thin, each of us tucked into a universe of our own, seemingly unaffected by neighboring universes. "Independence" has been the term used by propaganda to coerce us into fracturing ourselves from each other. And here we are, facing the frailty of our communal web and feeling profound vulnerability as we are forced to face what is wicked.

I wonder if we might be too busy seeking answers for the purpose of soothing a pestering intellect when what we really need is less head and vastly more heart. Of course we want to feel reassured. Yet, we're all in this, so who can effectively do the reassuring?

What feels true for me in this moment, as the levee of my own sanctuary cracks — I cannot do this alone. I cannot do life in a silo. I cannot heal my relational wounds in isolation. And I cannot fix the world by myself. Nor can you.

We need each other.

Because we've had the skills of collectivity and belonging siphoned out of us, our task is to rebuild, replenish, and remind ourselves and each other that, while we may not have 'the' answer to ease this profound worry, and we may feel diminished as we begin this healing, we can walk together on this unlit path, calling up the fires that live inside of each of us until we, ourselves, illuminate the better way forward.

We can interlock our arms; sing to the stars, reminding our ancestors that we're still here; and conjure the wild night that lives beyond our anthropocentric fragility. We can reverently welcome in the wisdom of those who have suffered long before us, including mother earth, seeking their guidance for how to cultivate perseverance and regeneration in the face of profound despair.

This is not a first, though it is a first for many of us. May we seek the wisdom of those who have have left seemingly cryptic messages in the sand of a despairing desert. And, may we, in our wholehearted and humble translation, realize the messages point to an ocean not a mirage.

I don't have any answers. But I do hear the call.