I, too
I have so many half essays started. These fragments of thoughts, streams of consciousness, vents, and poetic wanderings sit in a folder named “in progress.” On some days, when I want to write but not sure where to start, I open the folder and pull what grabs me. But today and on many of the past days, they feel irrelevant. With the backdrop of the current political situation, almost everything seems irrelevant. When there is a coup and a dismantling of democracy, all the other issues seem to fall short. When the systems that care for us are literally and unlawfully being rewritten, it seems too late to share the warning cries of history (despite trying again last week). When our livelihood and human rights are being threatened, conversations about culture, nature and relationships feel far off and belonging to a more peaceful and distant future.
I know that this isn’t true though. I know that one of the tactics of dictators and authoritarians is to create such a feeling of chaos and overwhelm that the time for discussion, debate and deep thought seems almost superfluous. Their success is contingent on our exhaustion and overwhelm. Their power is perceived not a given. I know this. I’ve studied this. I’m now living this… and yet… I still can’t seem to get myself to open the folder of all those thoughts in progress. I’m too scared today. Too hopeless. Too tired.
So what other tools exist on these days when we are feeling victimized by the ongoings of the world? What are we to do so that the despair doesn’t drown us? I’ve found that when the mind can’t function in the way I want it to, the first step is to come back to the body and breathe. The first step is to sit with time, for time is a tool itself. Take a minute. Take an hour. Take a day.
So for today: a poem. This is a poem I found in a collection called Joy: 100 poems. The poem is by Fanny Howe who was born in 1940 and raised in Cambridge, Massachusetts (my home state). The poem is titled, ‘But I, Too, Want to be a Poet.’
