Solstice Thoughts and Hopes

“Hope whispers, ‘And I will follow till you love me too.’”

This line from Linda Ronstadt’s song “Winter Light” stood out to me yesterday as I was celebrating the winter solstice. It’s such a poignant thought to me…that Hope stalks me, waiting for me to open my heart to it.

It reminds me that hope is something I often have to choose.

I speak of this time of the year as a season for hope and resurrection…the rebirth of the sun! But actually, there’s not a lot of evidence of that initially. Following the longest night of the year, I don’t instantly become aware of the lengthening days.

Most of the stories that I find about the winter solstice involve some sort of tragedy—someone kills the sun or steals/hoards the light or the light goes into mourning or descends into the underworld. In short, the winter comes because of death, loss, and destruction. As with Pandora’s box, Hope is what follows, not what starts the whole process.  Rebirth cannot happen without first a death.

But the solstice somehow becomes a celebration of the return of light in spite of the fact that it’s still dark as fuck out there. And that’s the significance!

The solstice and all the myths associated with it remind me that I can trust that brighter days are coming, even when I don’t see the evidence of it yet, because I know brighter days have always followed the longest nights in the past. So I celebrate not just at the height of summer, but also at the darkest point of the year because I know that the darkness cannot last forever.

In fact, seasonal myths are one of the most beautiful ways that my global ancestors remind me that nothing in life is static. Everything is transitory.

Even chronic pain, when tuned into, has an ebb and flow to it.

Even depression, anger, and sadness change and morph as I grant them much-needed compassionate attention.

What feels permanent and unchanging is made up of constantly shifting moments if I can only allow myself to pay attention to those moments.

Yesterday, I embraced the darkness and rekindled my love affair with Hope.

Happy Solstice, dear readers!

 

I Choose Hope

This week feels much more like we have reached the other side of a national disaster or suffered a collective death than like we have elected a new President. The atmosphere around me has been one of quiet fear, confusion, anger, and sadness. I have had my fair share of those emotions since waking up on Wednesday.

I don’t want to diminish the weight of what people are feeling. The fear is legitimate for many.

I have heard of misogynistic and racial attacks on individuals already, and Trump hasn’t even ascended to the Oval Office yet.

And in addition to the terror of what might happen to minorities through policy or mob, I have the very unique terror of realizing that we have just handed the most powerful position in the United States over to a man who meets all the qualifications of a cult leader, from the charisma to the totalism to the manipulation of the masses.

There is a part of me that just wants to curl up into a ball and scream…because once I got out of the IFB, I thought I would never have to face this again…because ever since I got out, I have lived in abject terror that it could happen again.

But currently, I am consciously choosing hope.

Hope is a funny emotion. It’s positive, but not the way that joy or happiness is. Hope is not necessary when things are going well. Hope is not a certainty that things will turn out the way we want them to.

Rather, hope is that strange emotion that shows up when things are going badly. It’s a bright emotion to dark and ambiguous circumstances.

In Tarot, hope is represented by The Star card. It tends to signify that things aren’t necessarily great right now. The night isn’t anywhere close to being through, and the darkness is thick. But the stars promise that there is still light somewhere. And even the little twinkling that comes from so far away can help lift the darkness that surrounds in the moment, if only just a little.

I have no doubt that we are guaranteed to have at least four difficult years. It’s hard to say exactly how difficult it will be because there are many aspects of this election that are unprecedented and unpredictable.

So today, I don’t want to pontificate about how dire things are or what the risks are. So many of us are already aware of all that.

Today, I want to talk about what is giving me hope.

• I have hope that, in this moment, we still have choices and power within ourselves to affect the future. Our civil rights movements have shown what can be accomplished when people work together for equality. We had enough people who were able to vote Trump into power, but we have still more that I hope will stand up to abuse where they see it.
• I have hope that this election will be a wake-up call for people to begin listening to each other, to fight the urge to lock oneself in an echo chamber. This election, more than anything, has shown me that isolationism doesn’t help us grow. Coercion doesn’t eradicate bigotry. It’s time to engage in the tough conversations. We have seen an uptick in homophobic, misogynistic, racist, and xenophobic speech, and the sad part is that liberals have participated just as horribly. But I refuse to accept that it has to be this way. We can put down our word-weapons, lean into the discomfort of trying to have reasoned discourse, and collectively learn together.
• I have hope that people can change, even the ones that I might have labeled “beyond hope.” Not everyone does, and this is not a hope that is based in naivety. I will not overlook abusive behavior in the “hope” that it will stop. However, it is a reality that people can and do change. I have. Some friends have. Recently, I’ve come to think that perhaps others like Glenn Beck have. Perhaps we won’t agree on everything, but when people make a genuine effort to challenge themselves and listen, there is hope in that space.
• I have hope that we can overcome adversity. And I have history to validate that hope. For every national tragedy, there are glowing bright spots of love, of people coming together to help one another, of courage, and of strength. We are a resilient people; many of us have already survived much. It’s not fair that we might need to again, especially for those of us who have experienced oppression and/or abuse already within our lifetime, but I have every confidence that we can survive more.
• I have hope we have the ability to influence each other in positive ways when we reach out in vulnerability and love, that conversation is the most powerful form of activism, that respect is possible, and that the majority of people want good things for themselves and others. We might not all have stellar ways of pursuing those desires. Communication, above all, is a skill and an art that needs to be honed and practiced. But there is opportunity if we can tap into the universal truth that none of us want to suffer and all of us want to be happy.
• I have hope that some of those who voted for Trump will stand against abuses of power, fight for the rights and dignity of others, and hold him accountable. I have even more hope that the 49% of voters who didn’t vote in this election will fight against apathy and will choose to engage in meaningful discourse and action on the side of freedom and equality.
• I have hope that I can make a difference in the world by making a difference in the personal lives of those I know. These last few days have been difficult to sit with people in their pain and fear while I myself am in so much pain and fear, but there is magic in connection. I am appreciative of the special role I get to play in helping people become their best self. That feels more important right now than ever.
• I have hope that we can learn from our mistakes. When we get to the end of this term, may we realize the shit-storm we created and take definitive action to make positive changes to our political system. May we realize the importance of checks and balances on power. As nice as it might be to think that a “good” President can put a “bad” guy in jail without due process…perhaps now our nation will see that stripping people of their rights in the name of good intentions only creates the possibility of having that used against us later.

Hope is not a promise.

There is much work that needs to be done in order for my hopes to bring me through the night and into the morning, but with hope, I can dedicate myself to that work and invite others to join me. It fuels my motivation to be actively involved and helps me see enough through the darkness to take up the power and choice that I have and use them to advocate for my and others rights.

 

 

 

As a Feminist, I Believe in Men

It would be appallingly easy to hate men. I honestly can’t blame women who do. With the amount of sexism, objectification, and misogyny women face on a daily basis, it would be easy to think that all men are like that.

And when a guy comes onto my Facebook wall declaring that he needs women to be sex objects and is only concerned about seeing boobs—and then generalizes that and says that all men are like that, it’s tempting to believe him.

But even though real life experience and statistics both show that sexism and misogyny are thriving to one extent or another, I’m not buying the whole “it’s just the way we are” tripe.

I have faith that men are better than that!

You see, as a feminist, it’s not just that I believe that women are just as capable as men. It’s not just that I believe that women should be given equal opportunities, that they should have the rights to their bodies, or that they should be able to live like human beings.

I also don’t think women have to take over the world in order to achieve that, which means . . .

I believe that men are capable of being humane. I believe that men are able to recognize inequality and fight with women to change the system. I believe that men aren’t driven by their penises and that they are capable of emotional processing and empathy. I believe many of them want to be set free from the hypermasculine expectations. I believe they don’t inherently want to rape and that, if we give them the resources and education they need to learn respect and understand consent, the majority of them wouldn’t rape. I believe that men can get offended by objectification too and that they can want to see women in active, equal roles. I believe that men can appreciate beauty without dehumanizing someone . . . or that they can keep it in their pants when it’s not really appropriate to take it out.

“What guys do you know?” I was asked when I expressed my belief that men aren’t all chauvinists.

And the lucky thing is that I know a lot of guys who fit that model of a man. I know they can exist because they do exist.

I’ve heard a lot of feminists say that men don’t deserve to be thanked for being feminists. And perhaps in an ideal world, it wouldn’t be necessary to praise people for refusing to partake in oppression, but in this world, where rape threats and hateful comments are directed at women for little other reason than being visible online, I think it is appropriate to give a shout out to the male feminists and allies of the world—not because we should find it so extraordinary to find someone who isn’t an ass, but because it takes a lot of courage to stand up to the status quo and say, “I’m not having it.”

We as feminists should know that.

So . . . my dear male feminists and male allies,

Thank you for giving me something to hold onto and hope for while we struggle to change the world together. I know it’s not easy for you, just as it’s not easy for me. I know you face your own brand of backlash, and I am sorry that standing for equality is such a shitty experience for both of us right now.

Thank you for standing up to your friends, not buying that product because there’s a sexualized woman in the ad, getting angry when you see the news, and even apologizing when you yourself find latent sexism slipping out from time to time. Thank you for being beautiful, equality-loving human beings who are willing to try to recognize and change the patriarchal culture that other men are content to just assume is the way things should be.

As a feminist, I admire you. I believe in the future that you represent—where respect and equality are things that all of humanity can strive for and achieve.

****Note: Due to an unusual schedule this week, I will not be interacting as much online. I love your comments. Feel free to leave them, but forgive me if you don’t get a detailed or personal response to yours right away.****

Solstice Song: My Prayer for the Coming Year

Okay, it’s not a “prayer” in the traditional sense, but it is an expression of my desperate hope that we will begin to confront the cultural aspects that provoke violence and suppress healthy expressions of emotion. If you’re a musician, I was hearing a swing beat as I wrote this. If you’re not a musician, ignore that last statement and just read it as a poem. Maybe one day, if I can get my partner to record a melody to it, I’ll post it here. Happy Solstice and Merry Christmas.

“Solstice Song”

Here’s to hoping
That the night will turn to day–
That our tears will lead the way back home.

Here’s to believing
That there is more to life
Than the violence and strife we see.

In our grief may we find
A better frame of mind
Than to leave the whole world blind again.

Though the world seems torn apart,
If we keep an open heart,
We may see a way to start anew.

Here’s to dreaming
That love can heal the earth
And guide us to our birth in peace.

Here’s to living
The change we want to see;
We create our destiny ourselves.

Though today we mourn the dead
There’s still life for us ahead.
We can break the cyclic thread if we choose.

Let us toast to new beginnings,
For they follow every ending.
Hope and love are now ascending with our hearts.

Dear Santa: Finding Hope and Magic in the Impossible

I’m heartsick over the events of December 14. And I almost wanted to nix this post because it seemed entirely too . . . I don’t know. But I’m keeping it because I really need my own words right now. My heart goes out to all those who are grieving. May you find comfort where you can, and if you find it here, I’ll be honored. Outside of this introduction, I’ve chosen not to edit my post to try to make it fit with the tragic events that happened since I wrote it. This post isn’t about guns or death. I can’t talk about that right now. Instead, it’s about hope. Somehow, I feel it fits while not really fitting at all.

I believe in Santa Claus. I write him a letter every year and leave cookies and milk out for him on Christmas Eve.

People usually think I’m joking if I say that, but I’m totally serious. There’s always the simple, slightly snarky answer that I do so out of spite because of the way that fundamentalism demonized the poor guy. And while that does indeed play a part, that’s not the main reason. I didn’t start believing or force myself to believe because I was pissed off. I really feel like I’ve believed in Santa my entire life.

No, I don’t think that a jolly old fat man physically flies around the world and pops down chimneys to give people presents.

But there is so much more to the world than just what is physically there, after all.

You rarely find people who try to argue that there is no such thing as time or North or mammals. There are those (me among them) that argue that those concepts are human constructs and not inherent in the universe, but even as abstract human creations that provide a structure and lens through which to view life, they are granted a form of existence, if only in our minds.

The same goes for Santa Claus.

He is the construct through which I view Christmas. It’s so much more than just a holiday. Christmas and Santa Claus are the season and the symbol of hope.

Christmas is a light holiday. We decorate our homes with twinkling candles and set our neighborhoods glowing during the darkest time of the year. There is so much freaking symbolism in that, it’s amazing that we forget it so easily! To take a season that could easily be the most desolate season of the year and turn it into one of the most joyful speaks of the inspiring resilience of humanity.

Terry Pratchet brilliantly draws out how the winter solstice was very often about the return of the sun. In The Hogfather, when an assassin attempts to kill Discworld’s version of Santa, the characters learn that his existence is necessary for the sun to rise. It’s not that there would be no light without the Hogfather, but the ability to believe in things that “don’t exist” (things like the Hogfather or, more importantly, mercy and justice) is what makes that flaming ball peaking above the horizon a “sunrise.”

In other words, our ability to hope and imagine is what makes life worthwhile.

In that manner Santa Claus is also a symbol of wonder. There’s one scene in the Polar Express that embodies this concept so well. The three children are staring out the train window at the shops going by. One sees only the presents. The other sees only the mechanics of the spinning pieces. But the little girl—she sees the magic.

So much of life is based on perspective that simply shifting your point of view can almost turn your world upside down. Santa Claus is a reminder to shift my perspective to that of a child every once in a while and see the magic that fills the world around me.

I’ve heard some Pagans try to differentiate between “magic” and “magick.” But to me, it’s all the same. There is no magick without magic, and where there is magic there’s also magick. I see magic in nearly every aspect of Christmas, to the point that I sometimes feel like a fool with the exuberance that I approach Christmas.

Even the presents hold hope for me. We live in a nation that is obsessed with getting stuff. Going to the mall, even during Christmas, is enough to make me sick. But the presents aren’t just a product of an overly materialistic society. They hold magic as well.

Yes, I love getting gifts. I won’t deny that. But really it’s not about the gifts—I swear it’s not!

It’s about the hope of good things to come. So often, that hope requires that we suspend our disbelief in the impossibility of something in order to allow ourselves to wish for it—and then the absolute joy that comes when, almost magically, that something comes true.

For children, perhaps that is toys because toys are the things out of reach for them. For me, I find it’s not objects for which I ask Santa but dreams and goals—the things that are still out of my reach. And I don’t wake up to discover my dreams wrapped up under the Christmas tree, but I do plant the seed in my soul that maybe, just maybe, that dream is something I can attain.

Perhaps I seem naïve for seeking out such innocent wonder, enduring hope, and impossible dreams. I’m not naïve though. I’ve experienced far too many horrors to be naïve. But in a world that is torn apart by violence and hatred, I kind of think we could all do with a little more of a belief in the impossible things.

I know that a world of abuse and sorrow exists, but I also know that a world of beauty, love, and hope exists. Christmas reminds me that world is still there, no matter what the year may have brought. Santa Claus shows me how to embody that world within myself.