OOH LA LA! #39

I pray my happiness is like pollen that flies to you and pollinates your joy

It has been hard to write this week. I’m feeling it all - grief, heartbreak, anger, fear, fatigue, and yet somehow there is hope.

Writing has been hard because I worry my words will be trite. I want to write a manifesto. I want to remind you about your power. I want to tell you to please take care of the dream in your heart and do whatever you can to nourish it and bring it to life. I want to say something meaningful about the importance of pleasure. I want to shout for life, joy, and the liberation I wish for us all. I want to hug you.

When it is hard to write, I take a walk and watch the sun making shadows flicker on the ground. I catch the eye of a neighbor in passing, and we share a smile, the tiniest act of revolution, I think. In the park, someone has drawn a game on the sidewalk with chalk and I stand in the circle labeled, “dance here.” I hear children laughing and watch two friends tossing a ball to a big brown dog who, in an attempt to catch it, keeps sliding on the leaves. Here, it is hard to not see the goodness all around.

If I were to write a manifesto, mostly it would be to say: let’s get together. What I know for sure is that any idea of separateness is an illusion. Everything we do is inextricably linked, like rivers to the sea, like the roots of trees stretching and bending on and on beneath the ground. My grief is connected to yours, my rage is fueled by yours, my joy is magnified by your joy. I carry you, you carry me.

When there are no words, there are poems, and there are songs.

“Out of a great need, we are holding hands, and climbing,” says Hafiz, “Not loving is a letting go. Listen, the terrain around here is far too dangerous for that.”

Let us hold hands and continue, my friend.

My hope today is to “bring some joy into the room,” from the prayer “The Keep Going Song,” by the Bengsons. Grateful for these lyrics today, and it is my wish for me and you.

I pray my rage is a fire that cleans my mind out and

Makes me ready to listen

I pray my pain is a river that flow to the ocean that connects my pain to yours

And I pray my happiness is like pollen

That flies to you

And pollinates your joy

Let it be so.

This week’s OOH LA LA! list includes: walking a different route, slow-cooked apple crisp, friends meeting friends.

The best way I know to get out of a rut is to walk a different route. Instead of taking a left down the street, I’ve walked a hundred nights, I turned right and started down a new, longer way home. On a new street, it is as if I’ve just opened my eyes, as if I’ve just seen a street light for the first time, just now discovered a mailbox, just now witnessed the wonder of twinkle lights strung from a garage to a garden. The sidewalk on a new street has cracks from trees I’ve never stood by before, and as I walk, my body is awake to each step.

On Tuesday, I was restless and anxious, so after leaving the polling place in my neighborhood, I stopped by the corner market to buy some apples. At home, I slowly peeled and sliced each apple and set them in the bottom of my slow cooker with spices, almond flour, maple syrup, lemon juice, and butter. Then, slowly, the smell of red Fiji apples swirling in cinnamon filled the air and after several hours, a crisp layer of cooked sweetness formed on the tops of soft, warm apples. Instead of the news, I turned on a National Geographic documentary about birds, served myself some slow-cooked apple crisp, and ate it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. If anything, I know joy is a serious thing.

Over the weekend, I celebrated my birthday with some friends in the park. We had macarons and wine and stood in a circle instead of sitting on the picnic benches, and I made my way around to say hello. I’ve never really had a big group of friends that get together but instead, I have many friends from different parts of my life. The highlight of the night was something I couldn’t have planned, which was watching my friends become friends with each other. Some people even shared poems, and at one point, from a cell phone placed in a bowl as a makeshift speaker, we took turns choosing songs, and we danced.

Thanks for reading and for being here! It really means so much!

I’d love to know about the joys and delights and pleasures in your life! Reply to this email with a few sentences about your OOH LA LA! moments or experiences and I’ll share in the next email!

May we continue together.

XOXO,

LJ

“What I am trying to cultivate is not blind optimism, but radical hope.” - Junot Diaz, from the book: “Radical Hope: Letters of Love and Dissent in Dangerous Times.”