Why the past 72 hours have left me feeling sad.

I don’t feel like expressing cogent arguments, because this is not a time for logic. It feels, instead, like a time for spilling out all of my sadness and bewilderment and anger and sense of being let down over the way some of us have been treating each other. Over the unkind at best, violent at worst, words some of us think are ok to say to each other and about each other. I’m referring, specifically, to Donald Trump’s debasing and dehumanizing speech and, more generally, more collectively, to the culture that has allowed him to stand before us and extol his disastrously provocative and unprincipled principles. 

I don’t know what to say other than this is not ok. I wish you could feel me when I say that, feel the exhaustion that goes into saying it. Aren’t we tired of this yet? I want to wake up and go to sleep each night without being consumed by this, by this beast we have created, the beast of our forsaken oneness. How could we have let it slip, our oneness? There must be some memory of it imprinted in our bodies, but we keep shoving it deeper, further away. Don’t we know that it will claw at us until we set it free? 

I’ve said this before, but this isn’t about Donald Trump. No, he is a symptom of our debilitating forgetfulness. 

It has been proven that we do not get sick because every germ has an equal chance of taking hold within every person. No, it is our terrain that differentiates us, the health and strength of our bodies that determines whether we get sick. This is why newscasters add that warning, “especially the young and elderly,” to their latest health scare broadcasts—it is those with the weakest constitutions that are most susceptible. Donald Trump has not erupted on the skin of our nation because he had an equal shot at infecting anyone, anywhere. He has popped up as boils on our national body because our terrain is weak; because our national body was already a hospitable environment for his vile and villainous rhetoric. He came in and exploited the fears we already had, fears about our differences—race, gender, ability, class, religion. 

I don’t write this to condemn or blast anyone. I write this as a reminder: we are better than this.

And, not only better, but more. My god, just look at us: we span the earth. Across the globe, we are connected. Do you realize what power that gives us—and what responsibility? 

I feel like we have forgotten our sisterhood and our brotherhood—and, therefore, our immense responsibility as co-conspirators on this earth—in a fratricidal tailspin. And, so, when I wake up to a shell of a man, who is being touted, defended, and raised on literal and metaphorical platforms by half this nation, espousing that nonconsensual sexual advances are entertainment, “locker room talk,” I can’t help but feel exhausted and sad and angry. And this is only one gutless moment of his. One moment, the first which has finally sent his supporters bleeding from him in a state of panic, in a long line of gutless moments which should have immediately disqualified him for president. 

So, yes, I write this out of disgust and sadness and exhaustion with the state of us, as co-creators. But I also write this because I know what magic we hold within us. If we let it—this magic, this arresting oneness—rise from the ground and into our toes and up our thighs and through our spines, and if we let it radiate out our fingers, connecting us almost electrically to each other, what miracles we could achieve. 

So many of us already know this and feel this and live this. So many of us, already, are drawing this magic up, as if up from the earth, rooting ourselves in her wisdom. 

We cannot let indecency around us consume us. Now is the time to stand firmly in our oneness. 

Yes, we are stronger together.

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