Today contained more feelings than I had anticipated. Awaking to the day, it was as though my body could no longer endure the pain it was storing so deeply from my awareness. Deep in my bones. Watching the snow fall, I felt this sinking feeling of being snowed in – lost from the protests and the sea of power that I could feel building all around the world. I felt left to feel all the pain, fear and grief that this new administration has already gifted me. This new administration that is sure to administer more pain, more sadness, more madness and more grief than anyone is prepared for. In my tears, which I allowed to flow, my bottom jaw began to unclench – trembling uncontrolled for what felt like forever (but was only about fifteen minutes in reality). My breath could move as this trembling continued and I tried to stay with it – knowing that what had been locked away was finally being freed from my body. I reached out to some sisters to share this moment of grief. To be felt in the ultimate vulnerability of feeling anything about what is unfolding around us. To share this moment of uncertainty and fire. To share in this grief and uprising.
It was then that the universe, having also been witness to my grief, offered me a ride out to the local Women’s March here in Tahoe. A wash of clarity came over me, and within ten minutes, I was on my way to the march – grief in tow. As we arrived to the sea of pink, I could feel the companionship and trust rush through and around me. And so we marched, a small but mighty gesture to offer to the collective, our small part in moving this consciousness, our part of the whole.
I could feel the women of my life in my skin. My ancestors providing me with breath as their voices rang out on my own. I could feel their hands lift my fists to the rhythm of our collective song. Of our collective voice. Even if I know this demonstration will not change anything immediately, it has changed something permanently. A way of being has awoken. A way of seeing has been uncovered. A way forward has been revealed to us all.
And it’s nothing new, you know? This sisterhood has existed since time immortal, keeping us glued together even in times when it feels that it’s all come apart. We know how to show up for one another. How to listen and how to speak. How to witness and how to be seen. Not in spite of our pain or because of it. But in it. In our rage and our power. In our vulnerability and in our strength. This march showed me that we can. Now, we must. We must continue to show up – for one another, for men, for future generations, and for all living beings on this Living Earth. We must continue to trust our tears and our trembling; our voices and our words. We must continue to trust one another and ourselves. We must trust each others pain and grief. Each others fight and power. But we can only do that if we trust our own.
Today – experiencing and living my truth in the trembles – I remembered to trust all of these things. Not blindly, but humbly and with gratitude. With the conviction that this is what we’re made for. That this fight is ours to fight for ourselves and for one another. And when we feel it – feel it ALL – we are fueled for action and directed toward change. This is not a hope or a prayer. This is a knowing we’ve now all tasted and experienced in our cells, and our bodies will not forget.
Though I woke crushed by the weight of the troubles we face – and I am certain they are many and large – I have emerged unbroken. There is still heaviness in my chest. There are still moments of breathlessness – even now as I write this. And in this moment, I trust that heaviness completely for it is the fuel that burns the brightest.
Awakening to life, I am taller. In the face of darkness, I raise my fist and charge ahead.
This broken system is dying, and I stand honored to midwife this transition with as much gratitude and peace as I can offer.
May the end of this world (the world of patriarchy, misogyny, racism, classism, and ablism) leave us all naked, pure and visible to one another.
I am a reSISTER.