
Yesterday was a rough day. It was the third anniversary of the death of the Best Boy Ever, my precious Stellar Stardog. Oh, and also, America somehow elected a lying, traitorous, convicted felon as its next president. So things will get a lot harder next year for a lot of Americans, for people all over the planet, for all beings on Earth, and for the planet itself.
I was staggered to learn that 33% of eligible voters didn’t vote in this crucial election. And a third voted for the Loser, and a third voted for the woman of color. As Robert Hubbell succinctly clarifies, this was quite simply because of “racism, misogyny, and white nationalism… it’s not more complicated than that.” In a livestream this evening, he made the compassionate point that millions are unable to vote for many reasons including various iterations of simply struggling to survive. And the comforting point that many more people actually support the Democratic vision of America than the angry, divisive paradigm now rising to power. If you do not subscribe to his newsletter I cannot recommend it highly enough, especially as we step courageously into the brave new world, arms linked, standing together. He’s not quitting, and neither should we.
One delightful surprise that came my way last weekend was this epiphytic bromeliad, arriving unexpectedly from Florida. “It should enjoy life in a well lit window with occasional misting,” my friend wrote. “It comes to you from the Hurricane Helene debris in my yard, having previously lived in the large live oak hanging over the house. It is doubtless misshapen from its time in the plastic bag, but it should recover its proper shape anon. When I saw it lying in the yard, I immediately saw your name on it.” No gift could have meant more to me. The green epiphyte clings staunchly to a fragment of mossy live oak twig. I gave it a good rinse and wrapped it with a string of peppers and beads, then hung it in the west window.

Today, I’ve felt courageous and resilient. I’m not quitting either. After I led a somewhat somber, somewhat relaxing, somewhat supportive meditation in telesangha this morning, I opened a message from a friend with this quote from Rebecca Solnit:
“They want you to feel powerless and to surrender and to let them trample everything and you are not going to let them. You are not giving up, and neither am I. The fact that we cannot save everything does not mean we cannot save anything and everything we can save is worth saving. You may need to grieve or scream or take time off, but you have a role no matter what, and right now good friends and good principles are worth gathering in. Remember what you love. Remember what loves you. Remember in this tide of hate what love is. You can be heartbroken or furious or both at once; you can scream in your car or on a cliff; you can also get up tomorrow and water the flowerpots and call someone who’s upset and check your equipment for going onward. A lot of us are going to come under direct attack, and a lot of us are going to resist by building solidarity and sanctuary. Gather up your resources, the metaphysical ones that are heart and soul and care, as well as the practical ones. People kept the faith in the dictatorships of South America in the 1970s and 1980s, in the East Bloc countries and the USSR, women are protesting right now in Iran and people there are writing poetry. There is no alternative to persevering, and that does not require you to feel good. You can keep walking whether it’s sunny or raining. Take care of yourself and remember that taking care of something else is an important part of taking care of yourself, because you are interwoven with the ten trillion things in this single garment of destiny that has been stained and torn, but is still being woven and mended and washed.” Rebecca Solnit





Then I puzzled some more and listened to a dharma talk, keeping calm, and after lunch I spent time in the garden, where the little blueberry bush surprised me with its beautiful red foliage. I hope it grew good strong roots this summer, and will grow big and strong next year.



One of the nicer surprises to wake up to this morning was a six-inch snowfall, bringing much-needed moisture to the dry ground. A local covid case led the Bibliofillies to hold our monthly meeting via zoom this afternoon, and we were all grateful, I think, to not drive out in the snow. I was certainly grateful for this somewhat grieving, somewhat cheery gathering of fellow fillies, first to confirm our solidarity and intentions going forward, and second to engage in joyfully civil discourse between two equal factions with diametrically opposing opinions of the book, The Bear. This link to an overview on the National Endowment for the Arts website reminds me that if Project 2025 gets its way, we’ll have no more government support for any kind of arts. Oh well. It’s what America thinks it wants. Or more likely, most of those people who voted for the Biggest Loser really had no idea what he really intends to do.

We’ll know more later. Meanwhile, I’m going to continue to celebrate the arts in all the ways I love doing, and to savor, celebrate, and honor Nature; to practice right livelihood by teaching and facilitating meditation and mindfulness; and to stand together with people of compassion, kindness, integrity, and wisdom, come what may.
















