Whether we’re connected offline or online, you might be aware that for me last winter was a season of being undone. From the messy middle of those disorienting dark times it’s hard to live each day and the experience is often difficult to talk about. But from the depths of being dismantled I shared glimpses here~
Much has changed since December. Seasons of being taken apart have a way of clearing space for something new to emerge. Emerging has been slow and deep this year. I’m gradually seeing what all fell away and what’s growing up in its place. To my surprise, one of the things that fell away was optimism. This poem is about that, and what’s been revealed in its place.
I believe poetry is a song that is meant to be heard as well as read. A poem is a journey for the senses, not just the mind. I invite you to sit back and listen:
Beyond Optimism In December my optimism disappeared. All these decades it had been there, holding the most devastating setbacks (personal or collective) as difficult moments on the path to better. Hardship, injustice, loss, and suffering were threads in a bigger picture of all things working together for good. Life has plenty of challenge and heartbreak but the trajectory was progress; growth and evolution. Thanks to optimism, no matter how dark it got I could see the bright side and head that direction. Until last winter. It’s not that this particular devastation was the ultimate. It wasn’t. I’ve lived through worse. But something was different. Something gave. Half a year later, lightness has returned. A long, heavy winter of despair and shame gave way to spring seedlings of possibility. Now summer fullness blooms with joy and gratitude. I’ve emerged from the depths of the underworld. But optimism is still nowhere to be found. I have a feeling it’s not coming back. And I already know that’s okay. In my winter of being undone much was exposed. Including me and what I thought was me. From where I sit now I can see that my optimistic view was linear, and therefore false. Though it seemed internal my optimism was actually a position; a vantage point that surveyed my life, the world, and humanity from above, looking beyond. The colonialist-capitalist-Christian notion of getting somewhere else. Our ingrained unconscious obsession with progress, suffering, saviors, and hope. Which has yet to deliver us from our pain and seems in fact, to dig us deeper. Now with greater capacity to inhabit my life my body, my experience from deep within— everything looks different. I still want better. But I’m also tired. I’d rather draw goodness in than journey off toward it. I’m more interested in being fully alive than in achieving a destination. So I cherish my optimistic self and grieve her departure. She was bright, her faith unflagging, and she got me here. But I no longer have the energy to carry her torch. And I suspect we’re better off being torches instead. The alchemizing flame. These days what interests me is magic. Practical magic. Real magic— The art of passionately knowing what is needed and desired and holding it so wholehearted and clear that it must arrive. The magic of fervently standing my ground while also surrendering my will. Which is to say, the art of prayer. Of kneeling in the desert and talking with the ocean. Of tears and ranting. And taking the lifetime of small steps that are mine to do to bring better in. —Kai Madrone June 24, 2023
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing! This hits home so much:
But I’m also tired.
I’d rather draw goodness in
than journey off toward it.
I’m more interested in being fully alive
than in achieving a destination.
Thank you for sharing your magic, Kai!