Tuesday, February 11, 2025

BLost and Found

This morning, I got an email from an old friend about an old art blog, one where I have not posted in perhaps seven years. She sent screen caps of her comments, friendly little greetings and remarks that she's been making this entire time, which is sweet and funny and hurts my heart. In between my omg and my oh no and my wait, do I even remember the password for that blog, I found this blog, which - wait. What?! I forgot about this blog. How in the Coke-Pepsi wars did I forget about this entire blog?!  Writing is one of the ways I mend my boat - plug holes, seal cracks, protect the wood. If I don't write, I don't float.

(And then I remember.  Alzheimer's. The pandemic. Cancer. My father, dying. My body, erupting with chronic pain. I've not been floating anywhere; I've been half-drowning, slowly, over years. There are probably a number of people who could blog that, eloquently and in real time. I, as it turns out, was not one of them.)   

It is a deeply different world now than when the first COVID case hit America. Donald Trump is back in office for the second time now, his administration operating like a racist tennis ball machine, pelting us with ICE raids; crashing planes; nominees so unqualified for their posts that they are actively dangerous to the country; South African billionaires who want to see the US government pulled apart like pizza bread; unconstitutional funding freezes; unconstitutional executive orders, anti-trans horrors, bizarre fantasies of taking control of Canada, Greenland, and Gaza, and the most zealously racist and irrational attacks on DEI, where "DEI" clearly just means Black Americans, and where "attacks" means writing with the big font that everyone who is not a white man is by definition less than. Less qualified. Less intelligent. Less competent. Less human.

Every single tennis balls hits painfully. Every one is violent. The relentlessness of them, the unstopping, uncaring, unfeeling barrage of them, is almost impossible to bear. And as hundreds if not thousands of people have observed, that, of course, is by design. Indiana's Jim Banks - one of my Senators - told CBS before Trump's inauguration that it would be "shock and awe," which really drives home the degree to which Trump is waging a war:

He's making it very clear that Republicans in the Senate and the House, we have a short window of time to get the things done that we need to get done. That's a different attitude than 2017. There were a lotta things that President Trump wanted to accomplish in those first two years that we never got around to. He's not gonna miss the moment this time.
The rush, Banks goes on to say, is the upcoming midterms.  Not everyone agrees that we will continue to have elections, but I am hoping we will retain a strong enough memory of ordinary democracy to insist upon midterms, which are less than two years away. I guess we'll see.

Republican Senators and representatives, meanwhile, are not really getting anything done except confirming Trump's appalling slate of nominees.  They certainly have little to say about Trump seizing their powers for himself, in violation of the law and the US constitution, even as Elon Musk is killing programs and people at the same time, even as the vice president is all but foaming at the mouth to have a true constitutional crisis, where the Supreme Court rules and the the president extends his middle finger.  

There are many organizers out there posting about the actions that we can take - that we must take - to mitigate the harm he is doing and to protect all those being targeted. I seek that wisdom every single day.  To participate in actions, however, we need our boats to stay in good order.  And that means we have to keep mending, plugging, sealing, charting a course, scanning the horizon, and checking the weather while also hydrating, getting enough sleep, working a job or two, making a meal or three, and keeping life going.  How are we meant to manage all of it at once? 

I read an essay last night by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg called "Fortify Inside: Why Spiritual Practice Matters During the Rising Authoritarian Tide." (I also literally just realized, looking back at her essay, that she is the one who pushed Jim Banks's "shock and awe" quote back to the forefront of my mind.) 

I appreciated at the deepest level the Rabbi's phrasing of this sentiment: "They are deliberately attempting to trigger a trauma response so that we are less able to respond from our whole selves and more likely to just go along with whatever's happening." I am grateful to her for this clear naming of what is happening to me and to millions of others. I am traumatized. I am out of my boat and down in the water, which I know must be deathly cold because my teeth have been chattering - not in the metaphor, but in reality. My teeth are chattering, rattling against my will or calling, for minutes at a time, sheerly from stress or anxiety. It's incredibly unnerving. I'm not of any use in that state.  I need back in my boat. 

I need a piece of her advice, too, which is to plug into a "big" source of energy - God, the universe, love, creativity, journaling, yoga - and engage in spiritual practice, whether by that name or by another, so that we can develop real resilience. (Read her essay for more on that.)  For me, this definitely means writing, and it means creating. I am finishing a crocheted blanket for my family, and I need to prioritize that over playing Tears of the Kingdom, which is more like spiritual Novocaine than spiritual practice, more like shutting down than charging up.

All of the things we need to do are active, including rest and self-care. Make. Build. Meditate. Stretch. Read. Brew tea.  Don't shut down. Charge up. 

We need you.  

   

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