Radical Hope

Hello friends,

Like many of you this week, I’ve been trying to think of what to do. Researching and sharing links to help Haiti and people fleeing Afghanistan. Dealing with the spike in Covid cases in Oregon. Helping folks prepare for yet another onslaught of right wing brawlers in our city this weekend…

I was supposed to write an essay for my Patreon backers this week, but I just didn’t have it in me. Instead, a story I wrote back in 2014 pinged at the back of my head. I dusted it off, settled back into the main character, and added another 1000 words.

Once I finished, I realized why the story called out to me. It’s about a character who is in despair… but who has to rally his hope and find a way to fight another day.

I’ve quoted prison abolitionist Mariame Kaba before, but here it is again: “Hope is a discipline.” Even when times feel at their worst, returning to a practice of hope can help to get us—and each other—through.

So here’s me today, sending out a wish for us all to invoke some hope. How about it? What’s one thing that helps you return to hope today?

Here are two things I want to offer in an attempt to help this weekend. The first is a link to the short story, Shards of Light.

Here’s how it begins…

He lost his wings.

There was an ache where they should have been, though ache wasn’t quite the right word. There was a void around his shoulder blades beneath his T-shirt. It felt uncomfortable. Wrong.

When Jessemine rolled his shoulders, instead of feathers unfurling there was just…air. 

Without his wings, he was nothing. So, full of nothing, he tied back his long gold hair, donned jeans and a relatively clean black T-shirt, grabbed a coat, and took himself off to get as drunk as someone like him could get.

The bar was mid-week quiet. A few groupings at the tables near the back. The soft click of balls hitting each other at the one pool table angled so you had to skirt past the action to get to the grotty toilets.

Some soft music Jessemine didn’t recognize underlined the calm, comfortable feel of the night, all plaintive vocals and acoustic guitar.

But inside? Jessamine was anything but calm. And he hadn’t known comfort in what felt like a hundred years.

You can read the rest on my website.

The second offering is a meditation I recorded a year ago in March. It’s called 9 Minutes in a Crisis. If you find it useful, I hope you pass it along.

wishing you well — Thorn