Whenever I’m feeling lost, bereft, furious, or, yes, joyous, I list my blessings. I’ve done it since I was a child and I’ll do it on the last day of my life. It’s how I start every prayer; how I enter scary rooms; how I honor all triumphs. It’s powerful to visit with the bright light that pours through our lives in even the worst moments.

From the minute this coup seized the White House, it has attacked every vulnerable corner of our land and our people. Many of us have been living with the heaviest of hearts–so heavy that our immune systems are eroding, so heavy that we wake with lumps already closing our throats. Enter the Tr%mp Flu: fever, chills, despair. Not since Mr Oyster have I been this laid out, and not until reconnecting with my lifelong ritual have I begun to heal. Now, before turning on electronics or even making coffee, I name and count blessings. It connects me to the child I once was, the crone I hope to become. I thank the divine feminine in all her manifestations and honor the light that precedes all shadows. Then and then only then do I turn things on, heat things up, join this eclipse.