The Hope Dare

My sister and I hit the beach yesterday. We swam in the clear river, ate a tasty lunch from our tote, and spent three hours absorbing sunshine while breaking down every nuance of our lives. We love being together. We love to laugh at life and ourselves. We are thinkers.

My sister silently dared me to swim, she being a far better swimmer than I. I plunged quickly, avoiding my usual rationale to remain on the shore. We are sensitive, passionate women. Our feelings are real, but we prefer to entertain them less than our intellect and mutual dark humor. We come from a long line of thinkers who think that thinking is a very nice compensation for emotional distress.

Still, on this late summer Friday paradise, we considered Hope and its evil twin Fear. I told her that my fears of America under political tyranny were staggering, despite my lifelong determination to keep my political head in the lovely cool sand. Also, I shared that my fears of this election were so profound, that I preferred 4 more years of the current pandemic over any political tyranny of our country.

This implies that I was terrified and willing to negotiate with the gods.

Bargaining is a common part of grief. I was already deep deep into the third stage of the future grief I fully intended to experience, one day soon.

Additionally, the fear within my heart began to grow as we spoke. It was as if my words brought more energy to this wretched fear, and then multiplied like The Blob as I attempted to be understood, possibly even further united with my wise listener.

My beloved and level-headed sister was understandably intolerant of my defeatist tone. She stopped me right there and assured me that my greatest fears were unlikely to be realized.

She prompted me to view recent speeches and their power, and she encouraged me to rise to the power of dignity.

I sat up a bit in my beach chair.

I stared out at the choppy and wide waters of the St Croix river.

Then I felt a wave of hope.

I pictured myself on the morning after the election, with a smile so broad and so authentic, you’d have thought I had just beat terminal cancer. Or gave birth to a healthy child. Or finally found the love I had always wanted. Or really just simply got my way for once.

In my imagination, the tides had shifted and the sun was bright and warm; I’m pretty sure there were bluebirds tweeting as they helped to gather big white sheets from the line!

It was only for a moment really.

But it felt really good, this thing. This hope.

I mean, it actually felt really good. Much better than what I had been feeling just moments earlier. I could see that I was afraid to have hope, since I had hoped before. And it didn’t turn out so well. Thus, I was afraid that if I dared to hope again, and it didn’t go my way, I might not have the resilience to stand up again. It just might crush me in a way that could never be restored. Consequently, I chose fear under the daily guise of cynicism, sarcasm, and a vigilant preparation for the worst. Not even outwardly. But in the quiet thoughts of my inner world, where all good things go to die.

The irony of causing my own current discomfort, even sometimes paralysis, was a surrender to ideas that would certainly bury me alive.

But if I dared to hope for another flash moment, that strange comforting light returned straight away! Then I was once again relieved of the wicked trolls of Doubt, Cowardice, and Passive Aggression.

Hope is a direct sign of courage. Hope is the hallmark of a warrior. I began to remember that I have never ever hoped to be some infantile worrier subject to the beastly authority of any human. If I wish to remain the daring goddess-infused woman that I must choose to be, then I certainly must not choose this putrid, acidic, alarmed state.

I will rise, and I will fight for a vision of glory. I will absolutely dare to hope.

Wind and Windmills

I am fascinated with the modern day windmills stretched out like sleek and stoic giants, lording over the plains of the earth! For some reason they strike me as particularly divine, slowly turning round and round, no hurry, no concern, driven by a force not of them but with them, serving the needs of our human, earthly existence. The sheer size of these titans promotes awe. Communion with nature’s elements is a stellar magic born of human creation.

So it is for the tiny humans as well, pawns to the wind, yet able to wield the wind to our advantage.

This is Fate and Free Will at once.

When I was a younger woman, I was afraid of the power of the Fates. What would bring me to my knees now? What next? How can I possibly endure that which I cannot control? I was in constant vigilance for the inevitable powers of chaos and catastrophe.

I was taught I must manipulate, coerce, prepare, adorn myself in armor, and steel against the winds! This was the only way to obtain what I felt was necessary for survival and ultimately for the things that always seemed to slip from my fingers. To take control. To plot how I can take the spoils of my own war.

It is a futile thing to defy the fates. I had lacked wisdom and had refused to surrender to anything that opposed me. I did exactly what I was taught to do by those who led me there. And it often felt as though everything and everyone opposed me.

It was foolish.

Through the years, I did do one thing that slowly began to work. I sought wisdom by watching the people I admired. In truth, I didn’t admire that many people. I actually don’t think there are that many people that have much figured out. But there were a few, and I locked in on them like a missile.

They showed me that Fate would intervene no matter what, and if I had faith in it, that invisible trust that it would be okay without my willful shove, I might actually enjoy the adventure of it all! In fact – and here is the secret – I could be the willing turbine that allowed the wind to turn me. I could choose just how to stand there and move with dignity, a knowing power of my own impact upon this earth.

The fateful winds blew. Instead of fighting it, I turned with it and generated a union of power. I would do my best to allow the wind to guide my choices. I learned what was immature willfulness and what was divinely led intuition. This discernment was crucial and for me, it only came from the brutality of mistakes.

Opportunity and Choice = Power.

Now I hold the power to love my self, my life and my fellows. Power for positive change. Power to live like a warrior goddess. Power to know joy and even the power to fight for what the fates call upon me to do.

I still feel discomfort. Sometimes I cry out, longing for the wind to bring me that which I can use, instead of trying to churn and grind in a lonely death.

Today, I turn to face the wind; I close my eyes and softly wait.