I’m reading Claudia Rankine’s book Citizen: An American Lyric. It’s compelling. Beautifully written. Deeply painful (especially as my eyes open to everyday racism and the comfort of white supremacy).
I’m recording videos for the prisons where I volunteer. Sessions on meditation with real, practical applications of mindfulness. Our world is bursting at the seams. Emotions heightened. My heart aches for the prisoners. Regular prison life becomes even more heated, noisy, complex, painful, and isolated.
I want to fix these pain points. I want to be a soothing balm that heals. Yet I must watch from the outside and do my own inner work. Sit in the discomfort of what whiteness has given me. Sit in the discomfort that people are suffering and I can’t be there (in person) to help. Sit in the discomfort that it’s a gorgeous night, light streaming through the trees, gardens illuminated, birds singing, yet my heart aches and all I can do is cry.
Still, I’m reminded that grief connects us. And this grief comes from great love. And love opens my heart. And my heart is grateful for sunset light, neighborhood laughter, squirrel shenanigans, friend connections, newly blooming flowers, and “ordinary,” amazing, courageous essential workers.
