For all that has been,
Thanks!
For all that shall be,
Yes!
Dag Hammarskjold
This gray November day, all thin light and hopelessness, I am grateful.
Not by ignoring our fear and weariness, the unbearable loss and pain that we face. Nor denying our capacity for unthinkable evil.
But because the universe shimmers–as improbably beautiful, as breathtakingly magic as ever. NOVA’s Great Human Odyssey reminds me that humans have been at this business of survival and celebration for 100,000 years. That it’s hubris to consider my agonies or dreams more important than those of the 100 billion sisters and brothers who’ve lived before. That I am privileged to live in the company of all the world’s sentient beings.
I am grateful for you. Your songs and poems and sketches, the light and laughter around your table, your deepest acceptance, your hand extended when the next step seems impossible. You teach me how to witness the magic and the beauty. And live and work in the energy of possibility and wonder.
I am thankful today for the tougher parts of this year. For the unarguable reminders that I grow older, that my knees and hips and gut protest what used to be effortless, that my sight is a gift not a given. For the emptiness that death has delivered along with its invitation to live.
I am thankful for this year’s improbable and illuminating adventures: to the deceptively beautiful borderland of Sasabe, Arizona; to the anguish of migrants trapped in the Port of Piraeus’s asphalt hell; to Patmos’ iridescent mix of sea and stone and sky; to the truest camaraderie of thirty others who gathered there; to Rodney’s heart-stopping music on those Greek nights—and through Montana’s streets and mountains; to Two Medicine’s brisk wind and clear air; to friendships that quickened into life-giving love; to the endless, dazzling landscape of words.
I am thankful today for new authors and old favorites: Hope Jahren, Sara Donati, Brian Doyle, James Benn, Abigail Thomas, Rebecca Solnit, Mary Karr. For the alchemies of movie makers and for Netflix delivering the illusions right to my desk: Lilies, The Time in Between, Last Tango in Halifax, The Crown, West Wing, Hamilton’s America. I am thankful for the opportunity to craft Women’s History Matters Facebook posts for Martha and to troll through Yellowstone National Park Superintendents’ reports for Janene. To visit a hospice client. To celebrate Carol Doig’s gift to the world of Ivan’s archives. To play Boggle. Drive our backroads. Touch my mother’s hand across time in crinkly pattern pieces and faded music scores. Begin the morning on the porch with you and the hummingbirds. Share a cup of coffee. Listen to Guy Clark and Leonard Cohen. Rest in the flickering candlelight of your patio. Watch stars rise up and slide across the Smith River Valley. Fall asleep with Mr. Noodle beside me at the very end of the day.
As I write, Aleppo is reduced to one functioning hospital; in North Dakota tribal elders and children face assault and eviction; friends fear for their lives and loves . . . here.
I know no defense against humanity’s worst behavior except the inspiration and shelter of music and art, literature and open skies, friendship and gratitude. Through this season and the year to come, may you know such sanctuaries and springboards.
How can our minds and bodies be
Grateful enough that we have spent
Here in this generous room, we three,
This evening of content?
Each one of us has walked through storm
And fled the wolves along the road;
But here the hearth is wide and warm,
And for this shelter and this light
Accept, dear friend, my thanks tonight.
Sara Teasdale
offered with a little license.
