By Marilyn Moore
Early this fall I was part of a small group walking through the wonder that is Wilderness Park. It was a nature walk; we had a wise and caring guide, who stopped at points along the path to talk describe the precious moments of summer becoming fall. We walked together for a time, then our wise leader suggested we choose a path and go at our own pace, or perhaps find a comfortable spot to stop, and look, and listen, and feel the breeze.
I headed out, continuing on the trail, especially noticing the berries that were hanging by a thread, waiting to fall to the ground and become a new seedling next spring. It was a warm day, and there were shady spots along the trail, where it was tempting to stop. But I didn’t stop, much as the shade would have felt good. As I reported back the group when we gathered again, I could see the trail ahead, and I was drawn to the light. I kept walking, drawn to the light.
Kind of how I live my life, drawn to the light. The approaching winter months awaken anxiety within me…I do not look forward to those long winter nights. I know…darkness and cold are the conditions needed for rest and restoration of all living creatures in the forest and the prairie, but a remnant of the fear of the ancient people that perhaps the sun isn’t coming back still resides in my DNA. I will breathe a sigh of relief, and gratitude, on the day of the winter solstice, knowing that a minute or two more of daylight each day will get me through January and February.
But more than the darkness of night, which has the blessing of stars and comets and which triggers our circadian rhythms to let us fall asleep, it’s the darkness of prejudice and poverty and damage to our planet and lack of compassion that is most unsettling to me. Those are the dark places where I most crane my neck in search of light…the writers, the poets, the volunteers, the caretakers, the teachers, the policy makers, the inventors, the health care workers, the astrophysicists, the artists, the lovers of life, who light candles and draw a wide circle and shine a light on the shadows and into the dark corners, making the world a better place.
I’ve thought of that path in Wilderness Park, that beckoning light, often in the weeks since then, particularly in the turbulence of the time leading to the 2024 election, now just days away. In the midst of violent rhetoric, accusatory and blaming language, loud and divisive voices, I’m drawn to the light. Light that shines possibility, a hopeful future, an affirmation of the value and dignity of all people, an assumption that collectively we can do more and be better, that chaos and disruption need not be the new normal in our political life. Like the light on the path ahead, I’m drawn to the candidates whose language conveys light, not darkness.
In a town hall meeting with Republican women earlier this fall, Kamala Harris was asked a poignant question. The woman started by saying that she was anxious, so very anxious about the election, and she wondered if Kamala was anxious, too. She asked her, “How do you sleep at night?” And Kamala’s response was empathetic, compassionate, and hopeful. She acknowledged that she wakes up most nights at two in the morning, worrying about something. Then she said that she manages anxiety and worry with all the healthy things we know about – she tries to exercise daily, she tries to eat wisely, she stays in touch every day with her family. And then she said that what gives her hope is the goodness of the American people and the democratic systems in our country, the US Constitution, the opportunity and responsibility to participate in those democratic systems, that by doing so we affirm our commitment to something bigger than ourselves.
It was a stirring response, for several reasons. She acknowledged what every woman I know has experienced, waking up at two in the morning, anxious and worried about something, knowing that it won’t be so frightening in the light of day, but in the dark, it is. Watching the women who were in that room with her, you could see that every one of them had been there, too…lots of head nods. She affirmed the daily health habits we all try to maintain, knowing that sometimes it’s a “tried, but couldn’t make it” day. And then, she shined the light of possibility and belief in American people and democratic systems in this very dark and stormy time.
Our choir sang an anthem last week, “Can we sing the darkness to light?” The text describes “chords of compassion and peace.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., reminded us that hate does not drive out hate, only love does. In these days that are fraught with darkness, my heart and mind and soul are asking…
* Can we sing the darkness to light?
* Can we love the darkness to light?
* Can we vote the darkness to light?
And my heart and mind and soul, drawn to the light, say, with a whisper, sometimes, and with my big girl voice, sometimes, yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can. We must….
