Songs for aching hearts
Close by but on a slight hill above, exposed tree roots entwine with each other, stones, and the earth. Sun shines through trees behind those on the edge of the hill.
This is a love letter to you. To you, and to your family, and to your communities. To our beloved plant and animal kin. To this beloved earth.
This love is angry, and this love is grieving. I love you and this world, and this love feeds and fuels my rage and grief.
So many hearts are broken right now - hearts that are feeling this break for the very first time, and hearts that have been broken over and over again.
My heart is broken. Like many of you, I worried we’d be here. I know that hate and fear run deep into bones and blood of this country. And still, even with that knowing, my heart is broken, and I’m angry. I’m angry that hate and fear have destroyed so many lives (human and other-than-human), for so very long. I’m angry and sad into my roots that so many millions could choose - actively choose - this horror show (fellow white people, we’re looking at you).
So this isn’t a letter telling you to hurry your hurt. To tell you to get on with it. There’s not a getting on with grief, or rage, or confusion, or sadness. They take the time they need - or they hurt someone. Maybe they hurt us, maybe others, or maybe it’s generations down the line that they find their way out, and by then - too often they’ve grown spikes and thorns.
So in this love letter to you, I lovingly encourage you to feel that hurt, grief, anger - whatever is there and real for you.
Sometimes we can’t access those emotions, even if we want to, so I’ll share the advice of a wise teacher, gina Breedlove. She suggests that if you know you’re holding grief, but it’s stuck in the chest or throat or somewhere else and just won’t flow, play that song, watch that movie, or read that part of a book that you know taps something inside. Sometimes these supports will finally let the tears, wails, yells - whatever is needed - flow.
One way I share my love is by making playlists, and I’ve made one for you. It’s not very long, but these songs will, I hope, offer some care and tending to your aching hearts.
In case you need the reminder (because I sure do) - taking care of yourself right now is okay, great even. Necessary, even - for the good of us all. When we’re up against systems that want to keep us separate and small, that just want us producing and then getting out of the way when we can’t anymore, then taking care of yourself and your community is a powerful antidote. Taking time to grieve and rage and rest is not giving up or not showing up. It’s being tender and kind, and living into the world that I think all of us here are dreaming into being, every day.
Our roots are entwined Beloved, one way or another. I’m sending energy, nutrients, and love to you, now and always.
We grieve, and we act when we’re ready (as ready as we can be). Here are some options for when that time comes:
Read a book, or an article.
Donate to UNRWA, or the Trevor Project, or the National Network of Abortion Funds.
