Dear Reader,

How are you doing?

The election news is big, and I’ve been taking time to process it.

There are many people talking about and analyzing the election results, but I found myself feeling very quiet yesterday. I needed to go inward. I needed to slow down, to be with myself, and listen to my body.

I encourage you to do the same. Take your time with your processing. Feel everything that you're feeling. Be gentle with yourself. Remember to breathe. Reach out to friends; hug people; make connections. Move your body.

Writing can be a resource, but sitting in silence, coming out of language for a little while, can also be a resource.

There will be plenty of time to understand and act.

At the end of the day yesterday, I went to my shelf and I took down one of my books by Rumi and opened it at random. This is a practice that I sometimes do, using Rumi almost like a tarot deck, opening the book and seeing what it is that he wants to say for this moment, what wisdom he might have to offer.

I expected that I might open to a poem about listening or understanding.

Instead, I opened to a poem about courage and pain, a poem about expression and helping others, a poem about keeping our own life force alive.

It spoke to me and to this uncertain time in which we find ourselves in a deep and profound way.

So I wanted to share the poem with you. (See below).

Rumi himself grew up in a period of great instability; he lived at the same time as Genghis Khan, who was raiding his way through the Middle East.

And so, Rumi reminds us, whatever the particulars of our moment, it's important we always remember we have our inner compass as a guide. When we see people or beings that are hurt, we can help them, and when we ourselves are hurting, we can express that hurt and that expression feeds our ability to nourish others. Rumi reminds us of the strength of the human spirit.

I hope the poem speaks to you, too.

I also wanted to let you know that if you are local to the Boston area, I'll be giving a reading from my book I Say the Sky with my friend the poet Carrie Bennett at the newly expanded Porter Square Books in Cambridge, MA, two weeks from today, Thursday, November 21st, and I’d love to see you in person. I'm also hoping that attendees will gather together after the reading to have a drink and connect with one another. More information is here.

I’ll continue to offer resources in the coming weeks for how to make sense of and respond to the times we’re living in, but I thought I would offer this Rumi poem today because poetry responds to a larger, deeper part of ourselves than just the analytical; it speaks across time and circumstance to our shared experience, to the conscious and unconscious, to mind, body, and spirit and the full range of our emotional experience.

Trust your inner compass, take good care of yourself, and connect with others in community.

with love,
Nadia

​

“Cry Out in Your Weakness” by Rumi
From The Essential Rumi translated by Coleman Barks

A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.

A courageous man went and rescued the bear.
There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save
anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself,
they run toward the screaming.

And they can't be bought off.
If you were to ask one of those, “Why did you come
so quickly?” he or she would say, “Because I heard
your helplessness.”
Where lowland is,
that's where water goes. All medicine wants
is pain to cure.
And don't just ask for one mercy.
Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet.
Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton
of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music.

Push the hair out of your eyes.
Blow the phlegm from your nose,
and from your brain.

Let the wind breeze through.
Leave no residue in yourself from that bilious fever.
Take the cure for impotence,
that your manhood may shoot forth,
and a hundred new beings come of your coming.

Tear the binding from around the foot
of your soul, and let it race around the track
in front of the crowd. Loosen the knot of greed
so tight on your neck. Accept your new good luck.

Give your weakness
to one who helps.

Crying out loud and weeping are great resources.
A nursing mother, all she does
is wait to hear her child.

Just a little beginning-whimper,
and she's there.

God created the child, that is, your wanting,
so that it might cry out, so that milk might come.

Cry out! Don't be solid and silent
with your pain. Lament! And let the milk
of loving flow into you.

The hard rain and wind
are ways the cloud has
to take care of us.

Be patient.
Respond to every call
that excites your spirit.

Ignore those that make you fearful
and sad, that degrade you,
back toward disease and death.
​

I want to reiterate some things in this poem:

“Lament and let the milk of loving flow into you.” It is through lamenting, through processing and grieving, that we are able to be more loving, more able to nurture others. So take this time to feel whatever you're feeling.

Rumi also reminds us both to be patient and to “respond to every call that excites our spirit.”

He tells us to ignore those that make us “fearful and sad, that degrades us back toward disease and death.” That doesn't mean we should bury our heads in the sand. It also doesn't mean we can't sometimes feel sad or afraid (the poem, after all, tells us to lament!). I think Rumi is telling us to not get stuck in those emotions, which over time cut off our life energy, and instead to choose how we focus our attention.

Remember your own life force. Remember your own courage and strength. We don't know what will happen, but we can keep supporting one another and ourselves.

Again, I'm sending you much love–
Nadia