Dear ones,
The weeks since I last wrote have been full with the kind of ups and downs that seem too normal now. An ongoing genocide juxtaposed to holiday parties; a new GoFundMe posted for someone who will die without access to medical care alongside a friend’s happy book news; a friend’s first Christmas without her father, next to a friend’s first holiday with a new baby. One night, P and I drive about a mile from where I grew up, deep in the woods by a creek that’s not lit up by anything but stars. We are there, past my bedtime, to watch the Geminids meteor shower; and we see them, bright and streaking through the blue-black country sky. I am awed and moved and close to God, and also: I think of how they look like air strikes. “This is how the heart makes a duet of wonder and grief.”
Our solstice week has been full of polarity too. On Saturday, The Rhizome House (the radical social center of which I’m a part), hosted a fundraiser for the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund. The event was interrupted by a racist provocateur who has been harassing people around town for months. He was joined shortly after by a nearby hot-headed business owner who threatened to shoot people at the event. There were minor injuries and lots of emotional distress, but thankfully no one was seriously hurt. It shook us up though, enough that we knew we had to create a safety plan for the solstice dinner we’d be holding at the space later that week. I feel afraid going to Rhizome on Thursday, the same way I feel afraid to teach class in the weeks after a mass shooting at a school. (Though the safety plan at Rhizome is better than any university safety plan I’ve seen.) We could all be afraid to die everyday, but most of us tend not to confront those fears until something dramatic reminds us of our mortal impermanence; I think about those in the throes of war and genocide feeling afraid to die everyday. I sit with the terror of that.
But the altercation on Saturday and the fear that followed are met on the other side with the warmest joy. Thursday evening begins with stress— from all the collective members— but about twenty minutes in, we are present in a room full of people who are sharing what the space has meant to them. We are talking about the book clubs and movie nights and free meeting space and lending library and potlucks, and we are feeling the new world in the shell of the old.
No one comes to hurt us.
We break bread and we light candles and we remember what we are trying to build. It is urgent, the work of making new worlds, but also it is slow. I feel desperate lately to get more people on board with the project of imagining otherwise, more people to stop putting their faith in presidents and borders, but I also know that, as adrienne maree brown has often said, we must “move at the speed of trust.” I hope (and believe) spaces like Rhizome can help people trust that there are possibilities beyond what we’re taught is available to us. More livable life is available to us; there are just things in the way of it.
“It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured
by a holiness that exists inside everything.
I am so sad and everything is beautiful.”
* * *
I’m technically ‘on break,’ but only from driving to campus. I have a giant stack of final papers/projects, which I’m honestly very excited to look through, but still it will be exhausting. I am also not quite finished with my first draft of the Pamela/Britney/Julia review-essay, but that will (must!) be done this weekend. After the holidays it’s back to the big book project, teaching an online winter session course, and planning my syllabi for the spring. No rest for the Capricorn-risings (nor the economically precarious).
I plan to stick to a mostly-normal writing schedule, so expect 1-2 emails from me a week. As a reminder for the new folks: I send longer essays (usually less personal, more analysis or culture-reflecting) 2-3 times a month to all subscribers; I send these short notes (usually more personal and less polished) every week, and below the paywall paid subscribers get access to my recommended reading/watching/listening—I put a lot of energy into the curation of the links, and really consider what’s worth sharing to enhance your week in some way. I also share a cute little gratitude list at the end which gives you more glimpses into my life and what I’m up to/into. Your paid support means so much, but I am also truly happy to give out comp subscriptions to anyone who can’t afford it, no questions asked. Just email me if you want to be added to that list.
If you are celebrating any kind of holidays over the coming weeks, I hope you find some joy in them. If you are finding the idea of ‘celebrating’ impossible right now, I hope you are gentle with yourself and with your sadness.
I love you.
love & solidarity,
raechel
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