Flurry

This flurry of snow thoughts
inside my mind-globe is continuous
no room for sunlight, warmth, peace.
I’m stuck inside a pattern I can’t control
unless I see the woman trapped inside
and the one holding the globe--
the choice to shake it up again
or cradle the scene in her hands,
till all the cold flakes have settled
and quiet serenity abounds.
 
This poem was written before November 8, 2016, before Donald Trump’s acceptance speech after winning the 2016 Presidential election.  It still gives me some a sense of peace and hope.  Though there is so much uncertainty filling our collective hearts, and we are experiencing a whole range of emotions from anger, fear, disappointment, hurt, and doubt, we don’t have to stay stuck inside a pattern we can’t control.

At my Mom’s yoga group, we sat in a circle sharing our reactions.  It felt like our cozy lives were being shaken again and again, so much that I was quivering from a flurry of snow thoughts and a contracted belly of fear.  I felt a little bit of warmth and grounding as we sang “This Land is Your Land” to all the illegal immigrants, LGTBQ community, Muslims, Jewish people, women, children, and men everywhere without exception.

Through the power of song, words, and prayer, I don’t have to be a woman trapped inside this mind-globe of post-election confusion.  I can also be the one holding the globe, cradling the scene in her hands till quiet serenity abounds.  This quiet serenity cannot come from hate or division, but only from acts of kindness and compassion seeking to unite gender, racial, ethnic, sexual, and class diversities.

I still don’t know exactly how the recent Bodhisattva vow I took to be mindful of wise speech each day will help to heal the hurt in every heart I meet.  Do I need to do more, say more, be more?
​
Driving to work Wednesday morning, I found myself sending metta to both Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton, to all beings everywhere who want to be happy, well, safe, and loved exactly as they are.  Friday morning as I was driving to work, I heard the following metta prayer waiting to be spoken for myself and all beings everywhere:
 
May we make space for all that is moving through us.
May we be kind.
 
In the words of Diane Ackerman from her poem “School Prayer”:
 
I will honor all life
—wherever and in whatever form
it may dwell—on Earth my home,
and in the mansions of the stars.
 
Billions of beings, one Earth, one home.  May we all be kind.