47: Week 21

Last week, like many weeks, has felt like a political whirlwind. That big ugly bill (the one that removes rights, takes away money from those who don't have money and gives oodles more to those who have a disgusting amount of money, and does so many horrendous things that hurt my head and heart) is still floating like a dark cloud, waiting to make its landfall. This past week saw deadly flash floods in West Virginia and San Antonio, a reminder that climate issues continue to happen and don't make the headlines, and if they make the news, it seems to be for a second, replaced by other horrors. The Mideast is on fire again, and I wake up wondering how many bombs and loss of lives will it take before peace or before a nuclear bomb goes off or before another massacre occurs. And this past week brought violent killings to Minnesota when a man, dressed up as a police officer, assassinated Congresswoman Melissa Hortman and her husband, and seriously injured state senator John Hoffman and his wife. All Democrats. All purposely targeted.

Saturday also brought the No Kings March, with people protesting throughout this country in big cities, small cities, small towns, overpasses. Over 11 million. We are the many. Unfortunately, I could not attend because of my sick poor sweet Dowan and that being the only time we could get into the vet. In spirit, though, I was there, and have been grateful to attend some of the larger protests and will continue to do so.

This past week, I spent lots of time considering art and the power of language, participating in a week long writing workshop with poet/writer Eileen Myles. It's been a long time since I spent 5-6 hours writing, talking about writing, reading, thinking about writing. I'm still on a bit of a high from it and also still a bit exhausted (the good kind from doing something you love). We spent the week examining a variety of texts, many political, many helping me examine some of what feels lately like a sense of political exhaustion. The constant onslaught of news that brings tears. The weight of a daily desire to do something (or perhaps do nothing that day) and feeling like the doing might not change the paths of destruction.

It is difficult to find those glimmers of hope, but I do, and watching one of my closest friends work tirelessly in rehab to recover from some serious brain surgery, is a reminder that giving up is never an option.