Today (Election Day) is going to be a hard day for many of us. And it’s likely we won’t know the outcome tonight–or what the aftermath will bring if the election is contested and violence erupts. It’s pretty f-ing scary.
Some people say they’re feeling optimistically nauseous. Others just report feeling nauseous. And again–likely thanks to climate change–it’s going to be unseasonably warm in New England. One of the three maple trees that shares my property is still quite glorious.
Photo: D. Dina Friedman
I will lean into the beauty of that tree as a way of reaching toward hope.
According to Rabbi Shai Held from the Hadar Institute, Hope is not the same thing as optimism. Optimism belies the gravity of the moment by painting it over with rosy-ness. Hope, according to philosopher Paul Ricoeur, is “a passion for the possible.” Philosopher Terry Eagleton in his book, Hope Without Optimism defines hope as, “a movement toward the good, not simply a craving for it.”
In other words, Rabbi Held argues, “hope involves commitment.”
I’ve already voted, so today I will continue to research phone numbers for voters in Pennsylvania who need to cure faulty ballots. And I’ll also write my daily poem for 30 Poems in November, because art matters. Here is the poem I wrote for 30 Poems in November on Election Day 2020. I think it’s still relevant. Hopefully it will be reassuring. Or inspirational.
ELECTION DAY 2020
D. Dina Friedman
Remember, a strong rain is what we need.
Plant the tulips, the daffodils,
before the ground hardens, and remember
the miracle of mud on your baby fingers,
your great-grandmother, who crossed chopping seas
to avoid the mobs with the knives. Remember,
as you stand outside today holding your sign,
or entering to make your mark in the oval,
you are one of a chain of humans
whose most grievous sin was trying
to make the world better. Remember
the small creatures taking refuge
under the lawn, and the children ripped
from their parents’ arms at the border.
Reach for them. Remember waves
are part of the ocean and you are water.
Swim. Let it hold you from the outside and in.
Drink a river of water today. Hold the flow
in your trembling belly and remember the moon
and your magic. How you were born
to hold the world like a large water-filled bowl.
Ask a loved one to touch your cheek
just above where the mask ends, and tell you
the morning sun will rise out of the desert,
the wind will blow away the dust.
And here’s another poem that burrowed deep into my heart: Accepting Heaven at Great Basin by Nathalie Handel. I’ve found it so helpful in getting through the past few days. Hopefully you will, too.
I may also go to the garden center and buy some bulbs to plant. And knowing that my candidate smiles more than the other one, I’m wearing this shirt today for luck. And trying, myself, to keep smiling.
Photo: D. Dina Friedman