I’m writing this on a day in the 2016 election cycle where Donald Trump’s vile words are polluting the airwaves yet again. This time feels different, though. This time, he has been revealed as saying the things we all knew in our hearts he believed but had hoped we wouldn’t have to hear. Now they’ve been spoken. They are there.
I won’t listen to the tape that was just leaked, because honestly, I don’t care to hear it.
I can’t care to hear it.
I don’t want it to land on my cells and to be burdened by the weight of the culture that it represents.
Because his words are nothing new.
We have been living in his reality- where white boys in suits can play the system, gamble on our lives, and consume our bodies if they work hard enough. If they’re not pussies. If they just play the game.
We have been shrinking for generations under the weight of what this sickness demands of us. An abusive relative that we are forced to be caregivers to, to spend our lives slaving under their reign, as they stomp around shrieking so that we can forget about the fact that they are gravely ill and slowly, painfully dying.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe that bearing witness to the kind of abuse, violence, hatred, and annihilation of the soul that is happening is a crucial piece to our responsibility in stopping it. That is not what it looks like to me to not care.
I mean that I do not and CANNOT give two of my everlasting fucks about the dead way of leading, believing, moving, breathing, thinking, and feeling in the world that Donald Trump represents.
On a physical, visceral level, I can’t make space for any more anger and sickness within myself for the obliteration of the feminine spirit- for all that is good and holy in me- and so I refuse to listen to it.
I refuse to give any additional energy to the poison that is expressing itself right now.
There is a very real possibility that in a month, Donald Trump will be elected the president of the United States of America. In my mind, this comes as no great surprise. I never believed the promise of an “American Dream”. In my heart, I always knew that this country was built on the values of death, theft, violence, and exploitation. He is the archetype of everything I see around me.
And four years is not a great amount of time on the big wheel of humanity. Perhaps it’s just enough to send it all crashing down, to start a civil war, to obliterate what humans experience of the earth. Perhaps this is what we’ve been heading towards all along.
For those of us who see this possibility coming- who are acutely aware that he is a reflection and a manifestation of the illness in our collective- we have to NOT CARE.
I’m becoming so unattached from what this country should be that I’m seeing a real need to start thinking about what will come next.
What will happen when we pass through the time it will take for this to begin to heal?
I suspect that in that place, we’ll be much closer in the spiral to a time, a memory, of Right Order. When the healers and the mamas were held in high status. When if there was a fundamental issue with the way things were being done, the women stood in the way of the men and made them turn back. We were the gatekeepers. Men fought, but when the Big Mama- the elders, children, and women- were affected, it was a whole ‘nother thing. There was weight behind decisions. Everyone had a stake.
Do we trust men to help that happen? I don’t know. All of this is exposing our deep need to hold the men around us accountable. So many of us (myself included) have yet to really see the men in our lives enter into this work with us. We have to find the sweet spot of holding fast to our sacred anger and staying open in the reality that we need them to stand with us and say that enough is enough.
There is healing in that truthful space.
There is something coming after all of this that I do not understand, but I trust. Perhaps good men aren’t standing up because they are hurting, too. I don’t know that many of them see this all for what it is, but I know they feel it. The Death of the Patriarchy. So many of them are looking to us for help. For guidance. For leadership.
Our brothers have far less than we do when it comes to feeling and trusting what is outside of this reality of abuse and rigidity. Sisters, I plead with you- do NOT let your anger and resentment take up all the space in your juicy hearts and block your deep need for their help and participation.
Is it our job to guide them? Perhaps not. But we cannot forsake them. Our pain and our anger points to our hunger for something new. We cannot attach ourselves to the violence that exists in the here and now. We have to take a survivor’s stance to endure and prepare.
And we need help to do that.
This is the paradox- opening enough so that we’re not letting the violence take up all the space in us, staying awake enough to feel what the root of the hunger and pain is, and getting clear and grounded enough to not waver when our surroundings tell us otherwise, when the men around us disappoint, when we feel rocked out of place by the harmful shit playing out.
And then staying in a space of love, excitement, and possibility for what’s to come.
And it's coming.