This morning, after reading Molly Fisk’s poem “Growing Cynical”, I read how she was inspired to write the poem by Hannah Arendt’s book On Tyranny. Arendt wrote how the lies are not meant to fool us but to teach us not to believe anything.

We begin to question even what we know is true.  

In this place of entry, I come to poetry for support, and pull W.S. Merwin’s book The Moon Before Morning off the shelf.  I sit with the poem “The New Song”.  We bring forth a new song.

Last night I sat outside to watch for meteors.  The stars were out, owls were hooting, and I listened to the creek, and crickets.  I went out again this morning before four, and the fog had moved in so there was only one star visible, and then, none, only a blanket comforting the feeling of vastness, where I am a viable, conscious part of this spinning of connection, a vibration that trusts.