And . . . Exhale

Canadians have elected a new Prime Minister. I’m not going to comment on the results of yesterday’s election. The man who will represent our home and native land, and the party he represents, is not the point of this post. (I’m tapping out these words on Monday afternoon. The results haven’t started coming in yet, so I have no idea who that is.) 

I felt like I was holding my breath all day yesterday. (Which is today, as I write this.) Gerry was working for Elections Canada and spending a very long day at the polling station. Molly snoozed, undisturbed by the political event of the day, she, perhaps, the wisest of all. I had intended to spend time in the garden, planting peas, beets, and sowing another row of spinach or lettuce, but it was cool and windy outside. Instead, I rounded up some art pencils and paper and sketched while watching YouTube tutorials, ignoring other obligations and notifications for the most part.

I hated that I felt like I did. I have never, in all of my 66 years, felt so invested in the outcome of a Canadian federal election. Now, the state of the world as a whole, Canada’s role both within our borders and outside of our country, and the near and long-term impact of the decisions our new government will make concern me deeply.

Once upon a time, I paid little attention to politics. Naively, I trusted that our elected leaders would make decisions with the good of the citizens in mind. Brought up in that utopian post-World War II bubble, I thought that good triumphed and our future was bright. I also believed in what my corporate career taught me—that conflicts were hashed out behind closed doors and all parties left the room united, or at least respecting one another and committed to moving forward and working together.

That ain’t the world we live in anymore, Toto. And I’m so, so weary of it all. I don’t have the capacity to carry all of this. 

Stop trying so hard. Those words came to me recently and I’m learning what it means to heed them. Saying no. Letting things go. Making different choices. 

Turning down the volume or, better yet, turning it off. 

Sitting in silence. 

Listening.

Breathing prayer. 

Reading scripture.

Reading poetry.

Shutting the door on what deplete my resources and welcoming the things that nourish me in some way.

Meadowlark song. Lilac buds. Coffeeshop conversation. The way the light dances on the branches of trembling aspen trees. The sun’s warmth. Children’s laughter. Molly’s eyes. Wide open prairie. Iced coffee. Wheat fields. Caramel. The wonder of dawn. Good books. Smiles. Candles. 

Classical music. Satchmo. 

A soft blanket. Shower spray. Scented lotion. Socks. 

Prayer beads. Centering prayer. Lectio divina. Visio divina. Liturgy.

One true sentence. 

Pencil crayons. Watercolour paint. Rough paper. Acrylic paint. A gel plate.

Silence.

Did I mention silence?

Canada has a newly elected Prime Minister. No matter who it is, there’s a rocky road ahead. Those who want debate and dissection can have it. I don’t want it. I know there’s a lot going wrong but I can’t fix everything. Or, really, anything. I can only do what I’m called and equipped to do in my sphere of being. 

Very few of us are called to the strange world of government. Most of us are everyday Joes and Janes doing our level best to love our families and neighbours. We’re poets, whether we craft verse with words, paint, some other medium, or just by the way we walk out our days. And the work of poets is just as, if not more, important than that of politicians. 

Grace abounds, miracles exist, and the things I can’t perceive with my senses are just as real as that which I can. I believe in mystery. That I’m beloved. And always in the presence of the Divine. 

If it feels too heavy, put it down. Be gentle with your tender self. Do something creative. Craft a poem.

We can do this. 

And we can make it beautiful.