Inhale. Exhale. I can’t see far in the distance, both because of the smoky haze and aging eyes. Inhale, exhale. The first rudimentary steps feel the most clunky, and that would be me with social media. I do something, usually wrong, and then hover in shame awaiting to see if anyone responds. It’s the crouching animal model of self-promotion.

A daddy longlegs or a cousin stilt-walks across the sunny pavement. Today I felt empathy and connection with a fly trapped on the inside of the glass door. Cory Gardner, our arch-conservative, unmovable senator, wrote me back to let me know Amy Coney Barrett will be terrific, that she’ll follow the Constitution rather than legislating from the bench. I just thought, “I hope you’re right.” It would be nice if someone, anyone, in leadership in this country followed the Constitution. That famed document I learned about in hallowed terms, with great interest. It’s our mythology, the birth of our country. Europe’s seemed skeptical all along. We were so new after all. But we felt ourselves to be indomitable, and the day when we’d fall by way of foreign manipulation via social media and greed from within seemed unimaginable.

I’m supposed to pivot here. That means I look at our dying nation and I close my eyes and I imagine the world I wish to see: Everyone is happy, every animal and insect and bacteria and human enjoys space in the biosphere, where we live respecting each other and in harmony. I do believe in this, the only outcome that’s sustainable, the only option to truly meet everyone’s needs and move us into thriving, as individuals and collectively, with liberty and justice for all. Thank you. I know this Earth cometh. I feel it in everything I do, in the joy that oozes out of my pores when I dance. In my heart that sings gratitude to all creation.

Photo by Motoki Tonn on Unsplash

And, and, and now the police are gunning down good Samaritans helping while black. I mean, come on Mother Fuckers. Shit.

How am I supposed to stomach it? What can I do? I walk in the One Human Family on Sunday and give to the Movement voter project and, and, and I vote and… And I love us. And I begin to cry. Please help save us from ourselves and please protect black people, poor people, Latina and Indigenous people and all kind people doing our best. And Lord help the Earth and all life on it.

I cry harder now. At least I didn’t put on makeup yet. I think it might be that kind of day when I shouldn’t bother. Some days being human is the saddest thing I can imagine. But then I think of our factory farms, and I figure it must be time to pivot again. I imagine all life on Earth treated with love and respect. I imagine it in my lifetime. I want to see Nature restored to her bounty and beauty and unimaginable creative genius with all forms interconnected. I want the fucking Native Americans to be able to protect at least their own fucking land and water.

Mia Harvey on Unsplash

My tears feel bitter. Thanks, Cory, for nothing. I can’t/won’t hate you, I won’t hate anyone, not only because I know we are one, but because I’m a glass house, tender beyond imagining. And I’ve always been this way. I’ve tried for years to become a male hero. I mean, the Earth needs saving, and those guys in the movies always just bust it out. I’ve wanted that to be me. I’ve somehow expected it of myself, blamed myself for not pulling it off. Every day, it’s like, “Why haven’t you saved the world yet?”

Yesterday I realized that women, the feminine, save also. Save through gentleness, through flexibility, through softness like water—fully yielding yet strong enough to carve the Grand Canyon. And I notice I am different today because I’ve claimed this feminine heroine inside me. What if feeling it all is part of my offering, part of how I help? Matt Kahn thinks so. He is so kind to us empaths and sensitive folk, he’s healing us one Total Integration call at a time. I think of Jillian—who smells Jasmine flowers whenever her guides speak to her. We are holy. This Earth is holy.

Back in the 1970s when my mom told me about the equal rights movement, I wanted to believe that women were equal to men. It had that moral quest feeling things do when they are spot-on right, just, and true. But I was no dummy. I looked around and saw the world and saw just who was getting the shit kicked out of them all the time, and it was we women (and many others). I didn’t want it to be true, but it was. All of us. We must rise together. We are the 99 percent, women, black, brown, and Indigenous people, everyone who’s ever experienced the love of Nature or a family pet—and who therefore understands that our Earth and our factory farms are filled with sentient beings capable of just that kind of love—we know the world as we see it must end and that a new Earth rises now. It rises even now. It rises. Together, we rise.

My fingers melt on the keys. I let go the battle, not the cause. I soften because we yield. But we are coming, coming, coming, like the rising waters, and everything will change.

Photo by Dave Goudreau on Unsplash