I haven’t been as enthused about much this year as the disintegration and demise of our democracy continues, slowly and surely- behind, around and right in front of our eyes and backs.
But, I have my Ayurveda classes or what I call, Yoga Plus, I have my daughter and her pirate, one black-eyed dog at home (both brighten my day) and my yoginis who inspire and reward me by attending my home studio. Of course, my husband, my other chickadees, Cindi, my few but tried and true friends, galpals and escaping up to the treehouse are also a goddessend.
Nonetheless, I miss my daily writing. I journal but cannot publicly post half the stuff that I feel in my bones about this administration and the fears that plague me. I have tried meditation, herbal remedies, distraction, eating, and mindlessness – but to no avail. The only true yet difficult solution for me is to get back to my practice and structure of penning the pain and disappointments, as well as the good and joyous moments, and returning back to gratitude as a perspective.
“Wake me up when the nightmare is over.” is no longer an option. I need to trudge through this like every other awful time. I must learn to thrive, not just survive. Otherwise, I become a shell of myself.
Write on. Love is hope. Hope is survival. Write your truth. Write your story. Write about the love, hope and your soul’s survival during this dark abyss. You will get to the other side of the moonless night because this too shall pass. Thankfully, expression through your art form, whatever it may be, can liberate your voice and make sense of the idiocracy that abounded in 2017.
Do it before it is outlawed.