Midnight in America

...and morning is a long way off...

Dearest Cottage friends,

This evening is painful. It seems as if Donald Trump may win the election — and do so with a larger vote than in either 2016 or 2020.

As I write, the election hasn’t been called yet. But by the time we wake in the morning, it might be. History is unfolding a road of terrible uncertainties. Yes, it does seem like it is midnight in America.

But now, here, in the dark, I want you to know that if you are feeling bad or scared or angry or confused, you are not alone. I feel all of that with you. And I’m guessing that pretty close to the 55,000 other people who read the Cottage are feeling that way, too. The silence of my text messages speaks volumes — it is surely a stunned silence, a kind of communal shock.

Go slow tomorrow. I urge you to pay attention to some small beautiful things in your life. We don’t need answers or a plan or even understanding right now. One friend did text me, “It’s okay to need to catch your breath after the wind has been knocked out. It will take a bit. But we will rise.”

Do that with me, okay? Breathe. Read a poem. Pray for someone who truly lives on the margins and who is even more at risk now.

We will rise. In time. The Cottage will be here as part of that. I’m here with and for you — for all the things about which I’ve always been passionate — mercy, love, hospitality, peace, joy, liberation, healing, faith.

It is good to write those simple words. Even when it is hard to catch my own breath. Somehow, midnight will give way. Oddly enough, I hear a lone bird singing right now. In the tree just outside my bedroom window. Singing in the dark.

Share a thought in the comments. Something honest. And maybe something kind and beautiful.

I’m more grateful for you all than ever. You are not alone.

Love,
Diana

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Everything Is Waiting for You

by David Whyte

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and to invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

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The night is far gone; the day is at hand.

— Romans 13:12

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