word of the day: passage

by erika

Hi Friends,

My son is terrified of “The Wall.” Not Pink Floyd’s, though I remember being forced to watch that at Geoff Remy’s house in 7th grade and it scared the crap out of me. No, The Wall I’m talking about is the calamity that the ass hat we have for a leader thinks will save our great nation and unite us by first further dividing us. My seven year-old cried himself to sleep about it last night, (we don’t even watch the news) worrying that because he goes to a bi-lingual school he will be separated from his friends. I can see him in his mind, building walls everywhere, around everything–between himself and his friends, and his family, and the world. And so I sang to him until he slept, “If You Want to Sing Out,” by Cat Stevens, and whispered, “you, my little love, are a Peace Warrior. Be a warrior for peace and practice kindness and it will help tear down any walls that get built.”

After I finally got him quieted down, I cried my own human self to sleep and dreamed about walking along a great bridge that spanned that massive chasm of Here and There. My boy and his band of besties were with me, painstakingly traversing this narrow and treacherous crossing. ez looked at me, climbed out onto the edge, and said, “Let’s dive in and swim it! It will be faster and I am not afraid of sharks!” And he did a front dive right off the edge into the abyss and came up laughing. I dove in after him and we swam and swam and swam.

Word of the day: passage

This is the second dream this week where I found myself teetering on the edge of a dangerous passage–in the last dream, my dead dad showed up, top-siders in hand, to help me across and through.

Passage–what a word! What a slippery, magical, ever-transforming noun and verb. It can mean everything from a road, path or channel, to a continuous movement–like the passage of time, to an enactment of something into law, to a short section of music, to death. There are at least 10 different definitions for this bad girl.

If Death itself is a form of Passage, than not even Death can stop it–this time, this crossing, this music, this change. Certainly a wall cannot stop Passage! (ass hat, she mumbles, under her hot breath).

And when I look up the word wall, I find this little gem:an extreme or desperate position or a state of defeat, failure, or ruin;the surrounded troops had their backs against the wall.

Trump’s wall is a desperate position of ego, and he will find his back against it. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men won’t give a shit about Humpty Trumpty when he has his great fall.

Yesterday, my 7 year-old also asked me what the word Optimism means. I used to believe in optimism completely–as a possible passage towards a utopic futurity. It’s hard to be optimistic these days. It’s hard not to feel oneself teetering on the edge of  a wall, or slammed behind one, or buried under one. But I don’t want him to give up already–he and all his privilege, all his smarts, all his kind, kind heart. And I don’t want to give up. I want to believe it’s easy (ahhhhh ah!) once you no longer think it’s hard. I want to believe that we, the peace warriors, will put together the pieces of this world and find new passage together. passage.

Love to all,

not-so-silent e