disarming the heart::
on grief & apocalyptic optimism
Often, I am able to turn off—the news, the relentless feed of the internet, my head— and turn inward, to a much softer interior world. Towards the green green garden of my own creativity. I like it there. And I am utterly convinced that the fierce protection of one’s inner peace is forever more necessary than the culturally-imposed need to stay informed of whatever is always happening now.
But this week knocked me to my knees. I put my child to sleep & laid myself on top of the bed, over a heating pad, with the dog at my feet and the cat on my chest. I could not read, I could not write, I could not close my eyes. I was incapacitated by cramps, and the overwhelming experience of compounded grief very forcefully exorcising itself, as though out of my every pore.
I couldn’t pull my eyes from the scroll of endless horror, as though bearing witness was my sole purpose, my own inalienable duty. I absorbed every image, every headline, every detail. I imagined the faces, the frightened sobs, the tiny bodies. I crooned deep & hard for humankind, for our kin. For our elders simply shopping at the market for their dinner. For our beautiful forsaken innocent children, getting ready for summer in one moment, and by the very next, getting murdered beneath their underfunded desks.
It is simply impossible to take it all in; the constant tragedy of being an American.
Of being human. I cannot hold it.
And I do not wish to try.
I’ve always been a relatively optimistic person. Hanging on the brighter side of things. But recently I’ve found myself in a rather apocalyptic headspace. Whether that’s prophetic, realistic, or simply giving up a power when that power’s needed most; I don’t know.
I was, however, reminded today, while listening to writer Mariame Kaba, that hope is not an empty eyeroll word, but an intrinsic discipline. Neither the natural, nor the easy mindset to take, but an advanced devotional practice. In the face of a narrowing future, hope must be cultivated and honed, like the head of an ancient weapon. Right now mine is blunt, and in the back of a forgotten closet. But I want to get back to it. I vow to get back to it. To somehow witness the suffering, the real suffering of the world around me, and within myself, and in the raw face of it all, continue to hold myself open. Continue to tenderly disarm my heart. Continue to envision other ways. To have faith in the possibility of a kinder reality. For the sake of our sanity. For the sake of our children.
Hope as a radical transmutation of evil.
Hope as invisible & contagious activism.
Hope as a burrowing forward; through the darkness, through the mystery.
So that’s what I am chewing on currently. And perhaps it’s an invitation to you, too? This was not what I had originally written to send out this month, but it felt like a truer exposition on where I am at, right here, right now. My plans for this weekend are to turn off again. Get outside, hands in the soil, feet in the dirt, body in some body of water. Return to the essence of nature; and hopefully find therein, a way to work.
Here’s a 6 minute version of a meditation > writing prompt I’ve been offering in sessions this month. It has nothing to do with hope, but it’s a quick way to assess the contents of your body/mind & begin the important process of clearing:
»APORIA POETRY READING::
Join us SUNDAY 5/29, 10:30am MST. It’s virtual & free!
Celebrating Marie Conlan’s new book, Neurotic Love Baby (pre-order here!)
& Ryan Mihaly’s new chap, B-Flat Clarinet Fingering Chart (order here!)
I’ll be reading some from Bread Of and some from my new poetry collection,
[a go] —forthcoming this November, via Ornithopter Press
»JUNE PRENATAL YOGA GROUP::
Journaling & mindful movement, every Wednesday 1-2pm MST.
Drop-in ($30) and monthly packages ($100) available here.
→All classes recorded & sent to you with purchase of package.
“My yoga sessions with Gabby were such a life saver during my second pregnancy. She did an incredible job of tailoring a practice to meet my specific needs. She not only helped with my pain, teaching me poses that stretched into places I had no idea I could stretch on my own, but also created moments of comfort that I could relax into. Pregnancy was extremely uncomfortable for me all the way through, and chasing a toddler around all day while pregnant put a huge strain on not only my body, but also my mental and emotional health. My yoga time with Gabby felt like a touchstone that I could come back to every week, to remind my body and mind that I was held and that I could care for myself. I was able to take the poses into my day when I was hurting or feeling overwhelmed and come back to myself and my growing baby. I cannot recommend Gabby’s pre-natal yoga enough, she is incredibly intuitive, thoughtful, gentle, and knowledgeable. Any time you are able to spend practicing with her will be an incredible gift to your pregnancy journey.” —Jenni
»I have one free Creative Guidance session available for June::
For new clients only. Claim it here.
With deep gratitude,
Gabby