As we stood collectively — bearing witness to a nation literally tearing itself apart from inside; a strange connecting terror emerged. No one questioned whether justice was threatened, just which side was the mob.
As the year progressed, I found myself asking again, and again, is this place truly worth fighting for? Is it truly worth saving? And is it even possible to do so?
Piercing the halls of Congress, courtrooms, schools, hospitals and homes, the country curdles at the top of its lungs, “WHO AM I!?, WHO AM I!?, WHO AM IIIII?!” Three hundred thirty million internal voices scream back at once something their own, while billions more from afar bellow back their deeply personal truth.
We long to know ourselves. Or to have the us which we believe we are affirmed so we can finally stop running, scouring, and clawing at anyone and everyone, including ourselves, to prove we are what we say.
In 2021, I traveled familiar roads to new destinations. Back to Boston by way of Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, and music.
We watched the human cycle start and blossom anew in the steps and gleeful shrieks of Emilia, Rayland, Ama and James, with Luci and her new confidant sternly standing guard.
Love came calling again. And love we did. Navigating a pandemic and ourselves, trying to know one another amidst the legacy of a nation telling us we should not be. We cannot be. For there is a wall that divides. There is a wall that divides.
Love.
Love sputtering. Love... Love lost. Longing for the lost love. Loving the longing and longing for the next. The one?
We are born to connect and that manifests in me. Sometimes too fast.
This year I felt familial dynamics shift and with those forces people become new selves, frequently fuller, more expansive, acute versions of themselves. Whether welcomed or not, it was essential to witness and join.
A theme for me this year was to not go beyond my own bounds. To simply be who I am and write what I know. For in that there are indeed wells ever deep. Our capitalist construct tells us to go, go, go. Get more, more, more. Be more, more, more. So we are never enough. In stretching for the stars — in our innate burning desire to fantastically explode and explore, we have lost our way. We may yet find it again and return ourselves to ourselves, but there is no guarantee. Many a human civilization is now one with the dust. What makes ours so special?
Fear grips me as I realize what this nation is capable of. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
Uncontainable, compassionate, ruthless, roofless courage and creativity spring up across the globe as the blood-stained walls of empire are scaled by those with little who believe it theirs, only to find emptiness in their hearts’ halls and confusion at who to blame. I am so close to them I can feel their pain. It pulsates. The rage is familiar. It lives within me too. I have loving creatively compassionate hands to help me dive and discern through the fog though. We dissect and (re)connect together.
I would flee or fly anywhere with and for my loved ones. Together we are whole and within each other we live, striving and thriving as our brightest, truest selves. For as the long-haired mystic women of the hills know and gently show to all, it matters not our physical location. The world is one and we one with it — and though seemingly so, so slippery and distant, a deeper harmony is indeed within our grasp — for when we align, our reach is tremendous - and no matter where we tread…
We are home.
MWB Waltham, USA
