This is not Trump’s day

Photo from Pixabay Images

On this seemingly surreal but also real day when Donald J. Trump will be inaugurated as  President of the United States, it is not more commentary or assessment, however well written, I need.

Because how many words have we read, and listened to, and shared, that told us what many of us knew so early on?  How many ways has our tongue sought out the tooth that was cracked and found it as it had been five minutes before?  Today will be the day a gold crown is stuck on over the crack.  There will be more pain.

But there will also be Love and a thousand, thousand movements of justice that will roll out across worlds and there will be those that are hidden in hearts and pressed hand to hand and there will be those that are seen as tears and those that march and those that cover canvas with colour and those who spin threads and clay.

This is what I need to know as it appears the painful crack will widen.  That a thousand, thousand hearts are called to prayer.  That love flows through the gaps in the crowds and hems in hearts that are poised to strike out and rinses the wounds of those who will most grievously receive the weight of this day.

What does it mean this day, this very day, when we touch the crack and long for the anaesthia of rancour or bright bitterness, to receive, to hold out our hearts like begging bowls for love, to feel them filled, to pass them round.  What does it mean, even on this cracked day to feel at our centre the water and fire and fastness that is Love.

I invite you to take one tiny bowl of time each hour this day
Hold it in words or silence to be filled.

Consider it.
Because this day too is Love’s.