1st Dispatch from the Porch

 I considered starting a new blog, 'Dispatches from the Porch" but reawakened this old narrative from six years ago when I went up to Standing Rock from North Carolina where I was living at the time. What I learned as an ally in five short days has remained with me, embedded in my heart, a roadmap for community and the collective power that grows organically from a commitment to the Earth and to the generations ahead of us.

Life as viewed from my 2013 Honda Fit has been so winding, so full and now, so quiet, I found myself at 72 feeling the big deep yawn of depression creeping into me for the first time in many decades. The result of this idle time that I've been gifted after many decades of work, relationships, moving, raising children, raising hell, did I say moving, now culminates on this large screened-in porch at the west side of my small rural home in southern Illinois. I never thought I'd return to the state of my birth, but destiny has a way of wiping that smugness off our faces to give us another look. The blessings are many as I'm just two hours from two of my daughters and their families and closer to my son by a full day.

From my porch looking over the side yard of these nine acres of aging oaks and sugar maples and sycamore and gum trees on a sloping meadow, I find my solid ground. I’m free to think or not think, to breathe, to listen, to hear. I have a most excellent view of the world, one that enthralls me, entertains, educates, validates, arouses hope, fosters love and rips my heart out from time to time. It’s all here and between daylight and dusk the movements of the stars, the sun and moon, I quietly witness the sacred fragility that is life.

 Is it my age? The state of the world? Allergies squeezing my nasal passages shut? What I know is that 'Healing the Heartland' has a new meaning today, one I've considered for months. The title fits with a new energy, a drive to explore where we are hurting as a society, as people seeking purpose and security and my deep yearning to look fearlessly into how we suture the wound, the tear (and tears) and labels that threaten us with sepsis, poisoning us, stomping on our ability to connect, unite, befriend. But I believe there is a cure. It will take a willingness to listen beyond soundbites, hateful mudslinging and single word labels. It demands that we push beyond the media faces and pundits we thought were our allies and seek a higher ground. It will take energy, a commitment to change. And love. Lots of love for ourselves and for this world. I'm not always certain I'm up for it. But as a grandmother, an elder, I must be up for it. I don't really have a choice.

This is where I begin today. With a hope and a prayer. I can't do this alone, no one can. I'm sharing the voices and writing that help me move above the chaos, the anger, the pitchforks to see this place...

So this is my invitation to anyone who stumbles onto my porch where the screen door is never locked: come sit a spell. Let's share coffee or tea, listen to crickets and to each other and search together for what may be helpful to end the madness of separation. 

Welcome! I can't wait to meet you!