There’s this thing that happens to the writer who writes for others.. we can struggle to remember and find our own voice sometimes. We struggle to be raw, unfiltered because we’re so keenly aware of interpretation. And when we do share in the public space those around us seem to think it’s all of who we are, unaware of the necessary homogenization that happens in the process of creating public content. I find myself confronted by this experience in these recent days, so deeply aware of the mindfulness I must act with, keenly aware of the power of words especially when they have reach.

Sometimes I don’t want to defend my words, I just want to feel authentically and be angry and say ugly things just to vent and let it out. I think “positive thinking” can be so dangerous as it allows us to filibuster authentic emotion and yet, I know for sure our minds are our most powerful weapon so we must act differently than our fleeting emotions.

It’s a hard balance.

We absolutely must lean into our practice now, this is the time, this is all we’ve worked for as we found our way to church pews or meditation cushions or the ultimate mystery of whatever sustains us.


Hate has no home here.
Hate is knocking on our doorsteps. It’s begging to be let in.  Even when you turn it away, hate finds ways to seep into our homes, our clothes, our bodies, our very bones.  Hate for the choices of others.  Hate for different beliefs.  Hate for ignorance.  Hate for hurt.
Hate is not the answer here.  Hate only needs more of the same.
We must find ways to extend grace, to offer understanding and empathy, to show love.
We must rise higher, fight harder, and love more fiercely.  We must.
Go to bed heartbroken or go to bed hopeful.
But whatever happens, keep an eye out for hate sneaking in.  It will want to.  It will trick you into thinking it is the only way.  It is wrong.
Hate is a liar and a cheat and a dangerous fucking bastard.  
Hate has no home here.

Let’s stand together and hold tight to the vision of what we know we can be.

Join me?