The Fox at Dawn

Sunday Morning. I think it is November 10 

I’ve stopped listening to the news on the radio, my morning company for decades. I’ve turned off Apple news notifications on my phone except for weather – no BBC, New York Times, Washington Post, Apple News. None. I’ve called on my prodigious superpowers of living in denial and compartmentalization in order to function. I’ve fixed my attention on others, looking for the goodness and finding it. I’m looking at this little spot right here, the moment I am in- the very thin line where the sea meets the shore. If I look too far out to sea, panic rises up and I am paralyzed by it. There were moments, long moments, on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning that I thought I might be having a coronary event and truly may have been. It took all my powers election night to pull myself back from the edge- turning everything off, putting good smells in the air, lighting my bedroom ceiling with stars, turning on the soundscape of the Milky Way and crickets (shout out here to the Calm app working on overtime these days), taking melatonin, putting lavender magnesium rub on my temples, chest, belly and feet, and breathing. Counting the breaths. Slowing them. Deepening them until I could sleep. It worked. But then there was the morning.

                  How am I to get through the coming years? Complete disengagement is not possible, not as someone dedicated to bringing whatever goodness I can to the world. I cannot betray myself. But neither can I be a force for good if I am paralyzed by anxiety or made evil with fury at my fellow citizens.  I must face that the times are calling on me to be an alchemist. I must work harder than I have ever worked to transform heartbreak, fear and fury into Love. I must take care of myself, put my oxygen mask on first. I must love my life and the lives of others with everything I have. Loving others does mean engaging in the politics of our time, engaging in society. This is hard for me, I am wired to withdraw and disappear when I am hurt. I am wired not to admit I am in pain, not to even consider that I might need help. I’ve already been in hiding for years, so coming into the light feeling skinless will require courage and faith that I’m not sure I have. Guess I’ll find out. A plan helps. Being my own gatekeeper, helps. Limiting social media and the news, being very very careful not to feed the furious fires has given me some peace this week. Writing helps. Seeing my fellow teachers and colleagues dressed in black, walking like the undead this week has helped. I am not alone in my world. I have to find a way forward. I have to somehow engage in the struggle.

The great Dorothy Allison passed this last week. She spoke for so many who have been silenced, who believed they had no voice.

“We have lost the imagination for what our real lives have been or continue to be, what happens when we go home and close the door on the outside world. Since so many would like us to never mention anything unsettling anyway, the impulse to be quiet, the impulse to deny and pretend, becomes very strong. But the artist knows all about that impulse. The artist knows that it must be resisted. Art is not meant to be polite, secret, coded, or timid. Art is the sphere in which that impulse to hide and lie is the most dangerous. In art, transgression is holy, revelation a sacrament, and pursuing one’s personal truth the only sure validation.”

Dorothy Allison, 1949-2024

Loren, I’m so with you. This is so fucking hard. What to do, how to be, I have no idea. I vacillate between rage, despair and terror if I let myself think too much. Can’t seem to sleep past 4:30am, ugh. I wish we were closer geographically! We could hang out and withdraw together…sit on the floor and listen to albums like the old days. Just wanted to say I love you, and I’m with you. Do what you need to do to be okay and I will too, if I can figure out what that is. xoxo J

Comment by Jillian Hanson November 13, 2024 @ 10:49 am

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Love you loads. Yes to hanging out and listening to albums. Writing of these times is one small thing I can do, so I’m doing it. And it helps knowing I’m not the only one bumping into walls. Take care of your dear self.

Comment by Loren Crawford November 13, 2024 @ 10:52 am

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You will want to listen to this Keynote address she gave us at Hindman in 2019. The room was electrified. Everyone who was there rose up in their seats and shouted alleluia- it was an altar call for writers. https://soundcloud.com/mountaintalkmonday/dorothy-allison-class-language-memory

Comment by Loren Crawford November 13, 2024 @ 10:58 am

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Thanks! Can’t wait to hear it.

Comment by Jillian Hanson November 13, 2024 @ 11:10 am

Also, it seems appropriate to add Dorothy Allison to my altar for beloved dead, along with the other writers, poets and artists who were not afraid to speak the truth. Maybe she can help us from where she is now! xo

Comment by Jillian Hanson November 13, 2024 @ 10:53 am

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Loren – I’m with you all the way..thank you for putting in writing the plan and attitude I am embracing.

Comment by Marty Jones November 13, 2024 @ 4:16 pm

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