Women, liberals, reasonable people. Our collective heart is broken. When we look at the world, the nation and our society as a whole, it is obviously broken. What can be done?
How can we take action at the personal, family and neighborhood levels in order to cultivate awareness, compassion, understanding, and ultimately, peace?
I don’t know. Maybe poetry. Poetry so good, it can make us tear up when we read it aloud.
Poetry, as in beautiful, terrible, intense, calming beads of words strung together that somehow make sense of life.
Poetry, as in yoga—as in love.
Last week, the day after the Trump inauguration, which I chose not to watch or read about, I began day one of giving my first week-long retreat ever. I’ve led or co-facilitated lots of weekend retreats over the past six years, all of which have been wonderful and three days long. This one was eight days. We dove deep within.
In the safe space created by our intimate circle of brave women, we practiced heart-mindfulness, asana, breathing and looking at our lives—at Life—, through the lens of the chakras. And we read poetry. Mostly, I read to them while they were in a yin pose or savasana.
I read Maya Angelou, Mary Oliver and Sandra Cisneros. Their words welled up in me and stirred emotion, awe, gratitude, solidarity.
Women, powerful women, soul sisters: por favor, read these poems aloud in their entirety. Often. Some of my favorite excerpts follow. Viva la revolucion!
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