Feeding the Gods of Hope
We stagger toward the longest night, some of us shivering, the blare of false cheer in our ears and debt lining our pockets.
These are, indeed, another round of “the worst of times.”
In the midst of gloom shine pinpricks of colored light. And even hidden behind clouds, the sun still eclipses the earth by day, offering the promise that –rejoice!– something new is on its way.
Everything cycles: The earth rotates on its axis. The tide shushes in and out again. The moon appears to wax and wane, so steady in the sky.
I look out my window (You see, I have a home. It’s warm and dry. I’m blessed.) at a gray sky framing bare maple branches. In the distance, the dark green needles of pine tower above the black snakes of telephone wires.
Crows call to one another, and fat squirrels chase nuts and seeds, tails twitching in cold air.
And I remember…
There are people. And people share stories. They make music and art. They bake bread, and brew whiskey.
People do other things, too.
People speak truth to power.
People band together to say: Enough! We’re through!
Plus: Babies laugh. A lot.
And people feed one another.
And we keep finding ways to help. And to create. And to listen. And to understand.
There is a way out of this. There always has been. The way out of despair is through the loving care and fiery strength of those who insist on reaching out a hand.
We can always choose to remember: even in the midst of anger, despair, and defeat, there can be –and will be– strength and joy. Perhaps not all the time, but that’s okay.
Hope exists where we make it.
Moloch eats his own.
We are feeding different Gods.
We are feeding the Goddesses of justice.
The Gods of love and hope.
The Spirits of water, earth, and sky.
We will not be put down.
Portland, OR December, 2017
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