This JOY!

I don’t usually post other things to this blog, but I can’t think of a sweeter, more lively or loving or empowering “antidote” and encouragement to our current state of affairs than this video from the Resistance Revival Chorus. It may lift your heart, make you dance or clap. It made me do all three. It made me cry good tears.


Sending you all metta.

Riba

Small Hurts (47)

Before the election, I turn from my mailbox to see my neighbor Ted and his dog Buster walking toward me. They look happy. “I just got a letter from Mike Bloomberg,” I say. Ted teases me about how Mike and I can’t keep our relationship secret much longer, and I fall in step with them on their slow walk home. We talk politics, about who we are voting for in the primaries, about how much we both like Elizabeth Warren. We fix the world, talk about the environment. That gets me going about banning Roundup, and we talk about how people would have to be willing to tolerate some weeds or actually pull some weeds, give up a little on the pristine. We talk about edible weeds, my fondness for dandelions and their greens. (Right now another neighbor has some nice big ones behind his trailer I am quietly harvesting.) At my gate we stop. “Well, I have to get going,” I say.

“Oh, sorry,” Ted says. “I’ll get off my soapbox.”

“No,” I say. “It’s always a pleasure.” But I am instantly sorry I said I had to go. Something under my skin bubbling up, the need to finish prepping my class before I leave. But I could have been happy standing there a few more minutes, fixing the world together. I wish I had.

Tweet 29 Offering

We hike to the oasis across the road, small groupings of fan palms. I walk with a cluster of their dark berries dangling in my hand, savoring their sweetness, spitting seeds. When I have had my fill, I lay the berries down with care on a rock, gift for the coyote.

[29 of 30 in November, re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]
Yes, I goofed, so I am posting my last three on this last day of November!

Tweet 24 After the Retreat

I sit cross-legged on my couch, the heater blasting, crickets singing through the open windows. My whole body thrums, like getting off a train after a long ride. Tonight it is the motion of our time together that resonates in me, and images of our metta rattle dance.

[24 of 30 in November, re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]

Tweet 23 Staying

When did I last feel this way? Saturated, as if I can’t absorb one iota more, almost goofy with it, punch-drunk. But I don’t pull myself away from the discussion, don’t want to miss the moment, drawn to these people, swimming in this rich, lively human broth together.

[23 of 30 in November, re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]

Tweet 20 Rough-Hewn

I am five, white in a mostly white school. I take out my clunky, fat, foil-wrapped sandwich of hard brown German bread. Everyone else sits with their white bread tucked into tidy, thin plastic bags. I feel crude, ashamed. I don’t know I’m the daughter of an immigrant.

[20 of 30 in November, re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]