I remember loving to sing a folk song with the refrain, "SPIRIT is movin' all over this land." As a child in the mid-20th century, I was excited with the preparations we made for school fires and confused by drills for nuclear attacks. As a teen, I was enthused with the promise of opening opportunities for people whose enslaved ancestors had little hope of survival. When our chorus sang the words engraved on the Statue of Liberty, I connected to my family's history as immigrants, and my grandfather's status as a resident alien. I believed with all my heart that there would be no further impediments to citizenship, to scholarship, to personal progress, and community engagement. In the last few weeks, I've been hearing another line from the same song, "God send fire, not a flood next time." Threats and anxieties that potential destruction by powerful weapons have been resurrected. Floods, fires, and an array of toxic consequences are pouring across communities where people I know and love live and where I vested my interests in the education and advancement of students whose language and traditions differed from those whose passion honors them. I'm no longer confused with misunderstanding that crouching for protection will guarantee the safety of those I love. I'm aware that drills to escape fires, lessons in drown-proofing, and memories of austerity that linked to cooking, mending, salvaging, and sharing may be more important than my ability to tap out thoughts on this keyboard. If we are prone to see these possibilities, we're also poised to perceive their potential. One of the most powerful concepts I adopted is an understanding that chaos is a force for creativity. Peace is a personal trait, even when circumstances oppose my ideals. Joy is available in the shake of a squirrel's tale, the sigh of a dove, the shift in a breeze. If I can't hold your hand, chop a fire break, or swim against a current, I can believe you will feel connected, find a safe exit, and remember the drills that keep you focused and ready to respond with purpose and power. I tend to call this "HOPE." You may call it faith, logic, fate, courage, or destiny. Whether you proclaim the promise of another realm or fully expect that existence is limited to time and space, practicing how we focus our attention reclaims balance and informs our actions. At a time of massive shifts in my personal life and career, I read the words of Teilhard de Chardin reminding me to accept the anxiety of feeling myself in suspense and incomplete. That calls forth the POWER of mindfulness. Suspended and incomplete, I can recognize simple delights, be surprised by gratitude, enjoy silence or song, and choose to believe that whatever pulls my attention from my well being is, most likely, awareness that you are asking me to recognize and reflect your vitality and resilience while we are suspended together in this unending moment. DonnaMarie Fekete September 6, 2017
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AuthorI've been paid to sing, act, paint, teach and write. What I do most to express myself is write. I've self-published four books: poems, essays, stories, and prayers. Archives
December 2016
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