Yesterday I sat shiva for our country. I cried, ate shitty carbs, was sick to my stomach. I sat on a hard box and even covered my mirrors. That night, I went to the protest in Union Square and then saw Party People, Liesl Tommy’s powerfully resonant musical about the Black Panthers at the Public Theater. Being unified with others in beautiful resistance was all I could bear. Many times during the play I and other audience members–even the actors–broke out in tears. Afterward, we all talked seriously and hugged each other, even people who did not know each other. We sobbed as hard as we do at funerals. I was broken-hearted but so grateful for the solidarity, for the sense that we cousin outsiders still belong to some aspect of U.S. history–the part that has its roots in social justice rather than manifest destiny.
Today I am assembling a to-do list of what I can do, what we all can do, what must be done. (Some of it I have already tweeted.) The items on my list are spiritual practical, deeply uncomfortable. It’s time this Dissociation Nation woke up, and that’s always uncomfortable. I am putting these items into my calendar to concretize my activism, will post the completed list here, and suggest you make and share similar lists. I am so eager to learn from what you are doing to resurrect our destroyed democracy and protect those endangered by our new cockocracy. First and foremost, let us practice radical compassion, which is not the same thing as codependence with those who refuse to rise. Wakey wakey. I love you.