Awake in a Strange Room

Awake in a Strange Room

We have awakened in a strange room,

nearly airless, and so tight the walls

seem to be closing in. We have fallen

to our knees, and though the new day says

to rise, we let the light climb these walls

for now. We are floored, having poured

all of ourselves into hope’s cracked cup.

Still, we must drink. Still, each ragged

breath drawn inward feeds this body

starved for more, deserving of love from

a country that doesn’t show it. We must

follow the walls to find our way out,

and seek the love of those who still

give it freely. These are our people.

Many of us—though certainly not all—woke on the day after the election, feeling as if we had suddenly entered a strange, airless room we could not escape. We grieved, even as others celebrated the outcome, pleased by the results. The sensation reminded me of the beginning of any grief journey, when we must walk with our sorrow while the rest of the world moves on, unaware and untouched by the pain that so occupies our days. Yet maybe the undercurrent of every grief, whether personal or global, is a new wakefulness to the life that was always around us. At first, we may feel as if we’ve been locked in a room with all the walls closing in, afraid it will always be this way. As Mary Oliver once wrote, however: “When the thumb of fear lifts, we are so alive.” This does not mean the thumb won’t press down again later, but that we have been granted a sudden reprieve, and can become more intentional about who and what we invite into our lives. Once the thumb of fear or sorrow finally releases us for a time, we can use that aliveness to seek out sources of beauty and awe that renew us, to find those people who will support us during any difficult time. No matter our political persuasion, we are always going to need each other and the communion of community to move beyond divisiveness, and find again the heart of who we are in the human family.


Invitation for Writing & Reflection: How does it feel for you when you’re locked in grief? What images come to mind to describe this collective moment we are all in? And how are you finding your people right now, the folks in your orbit who can support and understand you, no matter what happens?

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