Last night from 6:30 to 9:00, I was with the Upaya community on Zoom.  The idea was to report the numbers and celebrate, but the numbers were unclear and not what we expected.  Though the presidential race is still undecided as much as Trump tries to muddle that, the loss of the Senate is huge.

At one point someone quoted Norman Fischer: Our practice is to weep.  

I jotted down some notes, and have lost track of who said what but I’m with these words: How do we look deeply into the roots of suffering in our culture?

This country began by overriding the land and rights of the Native people.  We brought slavery here, and still torture these people.  Perhaps it’s time to atone.  

And then we’d return to the breath.  Over and over again, Roshi Joan Halifax brought us back to our breath, our body.  Notice the air we breathe.  We are breathing in the air of a digital universe.  Our opinions are reflected back to us.  Dopamine soars.  Now, we begin the practice of undoing the bias of the water we swim in.  

The wisdom of Rumi was read.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing

and rightdoing there is a field.

I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass

the world is too full to talk about.

The offering ended with these words. Speak truth to power. 

 It all boils down to Love, and developing the courage to not run away from all forms of suffering.  

Live with an open and soft front.  

My heart is tender today, wet with compassionate tears, compassion for us all, and how we meet now, and how we connect, and move and respond to what comes.

I mobilize now as I readjust to life as it is now.  What does this mean for me and my family?  Where do we roost now? 

Trump spoke of draining the swamp and instead we learned he was the swamp.  Today, our drains backed up and Roto Rooter arrived early, first one man, and now, two. They’re on the roof, under the house, in both bathrooms, and the garage. It’s quite a production. 

I’m hoping it’s symbolic.  Time to clean out what’s usually running unappreciated and unseen.  

As our pipes are cleaned out today, I’m grateful to know we’re removing blockages and moving toward flow.

As the Poet Joy Harjo wrote this morning, “Let truth be your walking stick.”   

We’ve been waiting for this day for four years.  I wake with the intention to stay and be calm, to nourish myself.  I’ll be with plants, walk by the marsh, eat comfort food.  I’m thinking it’s a day for chicken and mashed potatoes.  Maybe I’ll add some cranberry sauce in anticipation of a night of thanks.

So much is at stake.  I keep reading that poetry is the answer at a time like this.  Poems on Hope come my way.

Heather Cox Richardson keeps repeating in her column for today: Americans are voting in record numbers.

I’ve always voted, and I understand many had become disenchanted, felt the system was rigged, and that the two parties were the same.  We’re seeing clearly that the two parties are not the same, and also that every vote counts.

My heart is proud today, beating proudly, and as I nourish today, I trust that “good guys win”.

Emily Dickinson comforts me as I bring her words into the embodiment this day requires.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

I’m offering as much time and space as possible right now to envisioning these words of Br. David Steindl-Rast.

Imagine a country whose citizens – maybe even its leaders – are brave, calm, and open towards each other; a country whose people realize that all human beings belong together as one family and must act accordingly; a country guided by Common Sense.

Today I was on a Sensory Awareness call led by Miren Salmeron in Spain.  She leads and guides us in opening to, accessing, and knowing The Living Treasure of Being.  

I’m with these words of Goethe: When the healthy nature of man works as a whole, when he feels himself in the world as though in a great, beautiful, worthy, and precious whole, when his harmonious sense of well-being imparts to him a pure, free delight, then the universe, if it could experience itself, would, as having achieved its goal, exults with joy and marvels at the pinnacle of its own becoming and being.

Miren began with inviting us to visualize the waves of the ocean, and I felt how yes, the waves are part of a whole, and then, they fall into sand or rock, all so alive and vibrant in transition and change.

I was centered in and filled with an image of white light and the words of William Blake came to me: “Colours are the wounds of light “. 

I thought of how in the United States, we are so divided into red and blue right now.  I want to come together as white light.

Today, November 1st, the veil between the living and the dead is said to be thin.  We can invite them in, those who’ve passed before us, and be calm and embraced in wider presence and reception.

Today I learned a supportive way to watch the election results on November 3rd. 

Check it out as it might be a healing and expansive way to embrace and release what comes. 

I woke thinking of a Foucault pendulum which swinging shows the rotation of the earth.  Pegs placed below it are knocked down as the earth turns.  I love to wait and watch for the fall.

This November morning, I’m aware of the earth’s turning, the rise of the full moon last night, and the need for balance and change.

It’s the Day of the Dead, Dios de los Muertos, a day to honor and celebrate those who’ve passed.

May the pendulum swing bring the changes we want to see as we honor the cycles of life and death.  

It’s a full blue moon tonight, which means the second full moon in October.  Nature is giving us extra treats.  Fall is continuing to give us beautiful, sunny days where I live perhaps to counter the political news.

Mirabai writes: 

I know a cure for sadness:

Let your hands touch something that

makes your eyes

smile.

That should be easy today as we light candles and find creative ways to offer candy to ghosts, goblins, and witches as they come by.

Even so, I’m with these words: The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness.

I find myself setting extra intention to empty, and air the space in breath and head as so much pours in.  Perhaps it’s why we carve pumpkins this time of year.  I keep reading that writing haiku is a way to deal with the current stress, but perhaps a knife inserted into pumpkin flesh helps too.

The coyotes around here are howling with the moon.  Tonight, let’s all howl too!!   

My friend Elaine saw dolphins at Tennessee Valley yesterday.  Joy is everywhere.  

I’m still affected by the beauty in the film My Octopus Teacher, the learning and trust.  I’m floating on the magic of a kelp forest where the rhythm of the sea defines the lives of those twined there.  For us on land it is the rhythm of the air, the call of birds, and the wind blowing through us with each breath.  Do we receive and offer it like a kiss?

Roshi Joan Halifax: 

I finished reading Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan.

It begins with this quote from Rudyard Kipling in “The Secret of the Machines”.

But remember, please, the Law by which we live,

We are not built to comprehend a lie ….

I wonder if that’s why we’re struggling so deeply and intensely with the current  litany of lies.   We’re not built to comprehend such deliberate intention to deceive for the benefit of a few, rather than the wealth of the whole.

Tonight I watched My Octopus Teacher on Netflix.  It’s a beautiful meditation on life and death and trust in the transformation that sustains us as we feed, play, interact, and release.  It’s the perfect antidote to fear, and a philosophical statement on unity supporting the waves of change.  

I’m struggling with staying balanced in this last week before the election.  

Today I read in an article from the Washington Post that Trump will open up all 16.7 million acres of Alaska’a Tongass National Forest to logging and other forms of development.

I find his actions painful, a stab to heart and gut.

From the article:  For years, federal and academic scientists have identified Tongass as an ecological oasis that serves as a massive carbon sink while providing key habitat for wild Pacific salmon and trout, Sitka black-tailed deer and myriad other species. It boasts the highest density of brown bears in North America, and its trees — some of which are between 300 and 1,000 years old — absorb at least 8 percent of all the carbon stored in the entire Lower 48′s forests combined.

“While tropical rainforests are the lungs of the planet, the Tongass is the lungs of North America,” Dominick DellaSala, chief scientist with the Earth Island Institute’s Wild Heritage project, said in an interview. “It’s America’s last climate sanctuary.”

I’m aware that Trump doesn’t understand or relate to nature, or why we need trees and salmon and trout and deer, but we do.

Today Steve was sitting outside.  We’ve now placed a tub outside for the raccoon to wash his or her hands, and she or he comes when we’re not around, but today he or she climbed down from one redwood tree, and then peeking at Steve from behind another, tipped gracefully over to wash his or her hands.

What grace there is in sharing and knowing this yard provides food and shelter for more than we.