Tangled in the Tent
Tangled in the Tent
A bewildered week, and words from Neha Misra
Dear beautiful, tender humans,
These past days feel to me, in some ways, similar to the early weeks of Covid lockdown. People (including myself, those immediately around me) seem raw, a little shaken and bewildered, like they’ve woken up to find the wind has blown their tent down on top of them, and they’re pushing and pulling to find the shape of things, to locate the pieces they need to prop back up their fragile shelter.
Also the same: A common desire to reach out to those most vulnerable, to support those most at risk, coupled with the need to care for the people in our own homes, families, neighborhoods (sometimes these two groups are the same or overlap).
What’s blessedly different is that we can, safely, reach out to each other now, rather than further atomizing in our separate spaces, behind our separate screens. We can hold potlucks and book groups and hiking trips and dance parties and teach-ins and game nights and funerals. We can stand or sit alongside each other. Hold hands.
I’m always a little frustrated by the cacophony of “hot takes,” and have been choosing the voices I listen to carefully. Among those words that have felt wise and true to me this week are this post from
, this truly intense piece from back in July, and the latest episode of The Great Humbling podcast. Meanwhile, I’ve been reaching out to those around me, rooting in place, watching the leaves fall. Soon, plans will be made, but not quite yet.I was also in the Washington D.C. area this past weekend to give readings and talks at the Writers Center in Bethesda and at Bridge Street Books, and it was a little strange to walk around the monuments of U.S. government in the days after the election. When I was passing the Capital on my way to the Hirshorn museum (with a Veterans Day parade brewing alongside), I felt that the place’s history, present, and future were all there at once, happening simultaneously before my eyes. Myself as well—I feel myself so deeply nestled in the web of past and future ancestors, a matrix of consequence.
While in D.C., I had tea with my friend, the artist and climate justice advocate Neha Misra, and it was interesting to hear the perspective of an Indian woman on the election, since her family’s interpretation of the election and candidates is based on very different assumptions and associations than we hear here in the West. We talked about the need for understanding and love beneath the construct of the partisan binary, and the sacredness of art-making during this time. She left me with gifts of art —a beautiful broadside she’s designed for her poem “Enough,” which I heard her perform at the NC Climate Justice Collective residency last summer—and postcards of two of her paintings. I share her poem “Enough” with you here, in case your ears are craving something beautiful and true.
Sending love, and hope that you are feeling connected to the mycelial networks of love and support wherever you are.