When the theme is presence but the reality is unbearable to look at.
A love letter to you in the midst of the impossible.
It’s a funny thing to have this space—being, Substack, being, (I suppose, I hope) a community, being, a group of people I feel responsible to and for, to whom I want to offer a shred of comfort in a barrel of truth. I sit here, multiple times a week and think of what I might offer you. Musings on neighbours and clumsy interactions that I haven’t stopped ruminating on. A word on something hopeful while still holding the nuance, which is to say horrors, of the world. I wonder sometimes if you can feel me thinking about you, burning ears scattered around cities and towns all over while I think of what I might say.
The role of art is to speak to the truth of the moment. And right now, the moment calls for us to be present to the pummelling of a nation, present to the way things are, the many ways in which things are as they have always been. The ways in which the reality of the world seems to operate like a board game, these blue chips aligned with the green ones, and the rulebook says this is what’s to happen next. Collect ten points for conquering this section of the board. Send the orange team into exile. Cash in tokens for diplomacy and a rousing speech while people on all sides of the fake borders we’ve all decided upon scream for the same god to deliver them.
I don’t know how to write about war. I don’t know how to sit on the floor wrapping animal shaped musical instruments (a snake that is also a harmonica, a tiger that is full of beads that sound like a rumble) for my nephew Gus, who just got his first two teeth, who is learning to pull himself up to stand, squealing in joy at his accomplishment, while kids are crushed by bombs obliterating their homes. A video pops up of a tricycle on top of cement and I think of the toddler scooter my dad brought home two days after Gus was born, years away from him being able to use it, all of us laughing at his over-the-top preparedness for the inevitability that Gus would get to scooter-riding age. There are only so many times any of us can use the word atrocity. We are arguing over semantics on the right way to say all of this must end.
In the midst of this consumerist/ holy/ sacred/ oversaturated/ indulgent season, the month where I gather with my family no matter what, the month where we have our traditions rooted in joy and wrapped in our consideration of each other, the month where I so often, in all years past in fact, have got caught up and have laughed at the loop of looking for a gift for someone and have also, or instead, bought myself something, because isn’t that how it goes, because isn’t that how they get us, because isn’t that what they don’t want us to realize we’re doing etc… in the midst of all that, this year, for this month, I am reflecting on the word presence: my world, as in where I am, as is. This is me and my life and me within it. This is the world around me. This is the world at large, hemorrhaging its guts and asking for us to hold the gauze.
The world feels impossible to face. And we can’t change anything that we haven’t looked at. When I think of what to do and how helpless I feel, I think of all of our hands, insufficient on their own, wrapping around each other, around borders, around rubble, around the world, around policy and red tape and partitions, around history and nuance and everyone we’ve ever loved and anyone who’s told us a story about their homeland, I think about all of our hands reaching, doing what we can, carrying what we can. I think of us all standing in a line, passing an olive branch from one palm to another, and how far that could stretch.
Upcoming events
Poetry Club: Poems About Presence
Tuesday, December 12th at 7pm EST (Zoom)
The internet’s sweetest gathering is happening on the 12th! Bring a poem you’ve written or a poem you love on the theme. Paid Substack subscribers automatically receive the Zoom link 24 hrs before the event.
In Good Company - a drop in writing workshop - NEW TIME
Sunday, December 17th at 10am - 11:30pm EST (Zoom)
Our next gathering of In Good Company (a monthly writing workshop for paid Substack subscribers) is going to be Sunday, December 17th. We’ll be writing about presence.
No need to register - a Zoom link will be sent out to paid Substack subscribers 24 hrs before.
Nest At Beach Garden: A Yoga Retreat with Cassie Connor & Special Guest: Me
January 29th - February 4th, 2024
I’ve paired up with my friend Cassie Connor once again, this time at her beautiful week-long yoga retreat in Costa Rica. I’ll be hosting Dinner With Strangers night one and coming up with journal prompts for us throughout the week. What a dream. Find out all the info here.
A Soft Resolution: Thirty-One Days of Writing Prompts
I’m starting to prep for a 31 day project for us all - thirty-one days of writing prompts, with 4 writing workshops on Sundays. A beautiful, gentle way to welcome in the new year.
so many lines in here that i wanted to read a million times / that made me stare into oblivion / that made me question and think and question again. x
"The world feels impossible to face. And we can’t change anything that we haven’t looked at." I feel seen reading the rawness and poetic prose of your experience.