The Bigger Picture

I know better than to try to change anyone’s mind about politics. From opposite sides of the political chasm in this country we can list our reasons until we’re out of breath, but the only effect is to scare away the birds.

Maybe we can agree, though, that the climate this fall is one of fear. I have things I’m afraid of, and so do you. And separate from the fear that arises from my own perspective on current events, there’s a collective fear in the air and across the airwaves. My fear adds to the climate, and the fear out there increases my own. Maybe that’s your experience, too.

When I experimented with spending a week largely away from the news, not listening to the radio or tv newscasts, and reading very little from the newspaper, I felt somewhat differently. I realized that the endless reports, analyses, and what-if projections, were claiming my attention in a way that made me less thoughtful and more emotional. I still have grave concerns, and I need the information shared by ethical reporting.  But I don’t need to feed an inner anxiety machine. Living in a constant state of fear, anger, and upset doesn’t help anyone.

I don’t want to belittle anyone for their politics. People whom I love and respect think differently from me. But I would like to share my main concern about this election, and I hope you’ll stay with me long enough to hear.

At a time when we disagree on so much, it’s easy to lose sight of the container that holds our ability to have a country in which we disagree. We have different ideas of how to attain increased peace and prosperity, but most of us do want to find a way to achieve that blessed state.

Stoking fear and mistrust encourages us to think of our “real” country as constituted of those who think like us. The Kentucky state flag reads, “United we stand divided we fall.” These words, of all that might have been chosen, remind us that there are powers that would turn us against one another for their benefit.

There are powers that would have us believe that the greatest threat to our democracy is from those who think differently from us. This way of tapping into our most basic fears is how much of politics works. The message is that the “others” would undermine our way of life, and that to elect them would hand the reins to those who do not value the principles on which our country was built. These are the political arguments in every election season.

The question of which party should hold the reins of power is a normal political question. But what’s at stake this year is not normal. It’s much bigger.

An unspoken but powerful message in the air this fall is that peace and prosperity will come through policies that lessen the ability of citizens to vote. This year, the question is whether we will accept the leadership of someone who is working to negate our ballots.

The most basic principle of a democracy is that the voters decide. We have a leader working against that principle. Most importantly, he has indicated that he has no intention of turning over the reins of power. We’ve never before had a president with a plan to circumvent the vote.   

This year’s election is not just a matter of who will lead. It’s a question of whether we will hold onto our democratic system of government or not. Strange as it sounds, it’s apparently possible to vote away a democracy.

The power of the president is being used to make important institutions into political mouthpieces. A politically driven Justice Department can’t uphold justice. A politically driven CDC can’t maintain trust and respect as a source of reliable information. A military that acts to police its own country sets soldiers against fellow citizens instead of protecting them from foreign enemies. Under this president, long-respected independent institutions on which we rely for our way of life have been turned into vehicles for propping up power.

The existential threat is not from those with whom we disagree. This is a distraction from the larger issue. It’s like arguing over who gets to steer the Titanic. This president uses his rhetorical gifts to turn us against one another, which directs our attention away from what matters most.

The threat is whether we will have a democracy that allows each of us to have a vote, and permits debate about public policy. We don’t see public debates of important issues in Russia or China. Is that what we want?

In the Midst of It

After half a year of guarding against the coronavirus, there’s no longer much that feels novel about it. We’re all learning to live with the isolation and limitation, along with the toll it takes. I feel like a potbound plant. Yet just as roots pushing against their container force new growth above the soil, the constriction of these days pushes me to leaf out in new ways, even as I long for life to open up again.

I’ve learned about sewing masks over these long months since the pandemic took hold. My first efforts were pleated rectangles, stitched on the machine one after another like a banner of prayer flags. In those early, frightening days when masks were nearly impossible to find, each was a supplication for safety, offered to and for my loved ones.

The masks I make now fit better, and there are many other places to find them. Maybe I’ll attempt another round with a new design, but these days I’m weary of the project and the clutter. It’s time to clear the dining room table, piled with the fabric, interfacing, and allergen filter I’ve experimented with. I designated a box for keeping my tools and materials at hand. Like the fears that arrived with the virus, they’re not quite put away but no longer sprawling everywhere.

In this and so many other ways, we’re living in the in-between. Covid has imposed strange, yet increasingly familiar, routines even as it remains long way from being over. The end, so far, isn’t even in sight.

I would have thought that my imposed solitude should yield more creative work, and more plans for teaching. After all, the quiet is something writers and contemplatives long for. But for much of the summer, I haven’t been able to settle on what project to take up next, or what kind of plans to be putting in place.

I remember months ago considering paths to choose from, different directions in which to focus my attention. New possibilities surely still exist, but at this point there is nothing to illuminate the path forward. I lack a sense of beckoning energy, or of alignment with a greater will, when I consider generating something new.

If I knew what to work on I would do it, but the character of this time resists forward momentum. Even now as the calendar turns toward fall, usually a productive time for me, it’s not a season for looking forward. For now, I’m doing more learning than teaching, more reading than writing. I’m digging and planting in my yard, and trusting that the soil of my inner life will yield new growth as well. We’re living in a liminal time. I’m getting through it with this repeated mantra: Bow to what is.

For me, bowing to what is means allowing myself to see what is happening and to accept that it’s real. It means not resisting or denying what is true, even if I dislike it. It means trying my best to see without distortion. Only then can I respond effectively, whether it’s showing compassion to myself or someone else, or setting a boundary where it’s needed. We can’t force the world to be as we wish, we can only meet the world where it is and go from there.

The events of this year are bigger than I am. I can’t fix what’s wrong. Yet how I respond, how each of us responds, matters. We need deep healing in this country—not just a fix, but a reset. How to do that is beyond me, but I want to be part of finding a way. When things are this out of balance, the best thing I can offer is a commitment to connecting to the true, balancing center, and encouragement for others to do the same.

So my direction, for now, is not so much forward but inward. I look for glimpses of the pattern being woven through the unfolding of these days. I listen for the messages behind the daily onslaught of news. I value silence, a rest from the stream of information that yields no insight. If true knowledge is to be had, it must come from deeper and more enduring place.

The upheaval we’ve all experienced this year has made clear that we are not in control. But we do have choice. We’re part of something bigger than we are, and each of us has a role to play as this greater reality unfolds. This is a time for each of us, in our own way, to listen for our soul’s wisdom.

This world is in dire need of the genuine gifts that each of us can offer. We must read the inner compass that allows us to bring forth the abilities that are uniquely ours to share. How do we act not from fear but from love? What can we offer that strengthens the collective?

This liminal time offers an invitation to consider questions that we’ve held off, perhaps for years. It’s time to listen—not to the cacophony out there, but to the wisdom that dwells inside. It’s time to see clearly, respond effectively, and create a society that can somehow hold us all. Let’s keep working to find a way of life, individually and collectively, that fits better.