Poems and Protection
A Venus Day Love List
First, the Rage…
Dear Art Witches,
The other day on my Instagram stories, I re-posted a story about the Democratic Republic of the Congo and all the horrors going on there. The statistics were beyond comprehension.
My caption for the infographic was, “I hate it here.”
Later on I was thinking, “where do I hate it?” What did I mean by that?
I love it on earth. I love life. Tovaangar (also known as Los Angeles) is a great city, Southern California makes my heart flush with joy: the swallow tail butterflies, the oak trees, the bungalows, the tacos. All great.
But lately I admit that I’ve been feeling some hate, which, as a “spiritual leader” of sorts, I’m not supposed to do.
A stew of frustration and anxiety and horror. A combination of disbelief at all the cruelty of the world and a cynical fury that of course things are as they are. Of COURSE the betrayals, the bombs, the disregard, the machismo and war profiteering.
It’s easy to “hate it here,” when – as your scrolling your instagram feed filled with gore and violence in one part of the world – you hear about a shooting in Maine, and yet another genocide in the Congo, in Sudan, in Palestine… anyway, I don’t feel like I have to tell you because I’M SURE you already know.
A huge part of me feels tempted now to wrap it up, to make it okay for us to be witnessing all of this somehow, livable.
To be like, yes there’s genocide and the ice caps are melting, but here’s a tip to help you deal with it. To tie a bow on this post so that you can get on with your day and feel like somehow it’s all okay.
But none of this is okay.
And it has never been okay. THIS VIOLENCE IS NOT OKAY. This neglect is not okay.
Simultaneously, tonight I had dinner with my friend David and he said something that made me happy.
We were talking about the Biden administration and how f*cked it is. And David said something to the effect of, “They underestimated the moral outrage of the American people.”
Outrage is something witches know well. The Furies. Medea. All the cackling hags.
Complacency and consumerist comfort have gotten us nowhere. I’m ready for more of us to feel witch-level rage.
My outrage feels like a form of love. A thread of connection weaving between myself and all beings who are suffering, here in my city, in my family, and throughout the world and beyond.
As many of you know, I was active in the ecological activist group Extinction Rebellion for a long while. One of their slogans was “Love and Rage” and I feel that so deep in my bones now.
What could our rage do if we let ourselves feel it? If we weren’t afraid of it, and didn’t try to dispel it so quickly?
Who among us knows the secret to how we can use our fury to create rather than destroy?
If you do, let us know in the comments below.
Love and Rage,
Amanda
P.S. I haven’t done the final tally yet, but I think we raised something like $1,500 for the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund at our last Moon Circle! I will let you know final tally next week, but I just want you to know, I’m so proud of us. Thank you so much to everyone who contributed! If you still want to donate, you can do so at:
Paypal: amandayatesgarcia@gmail.com
Venmo: @Amanda-YatesGarcia
Zelle: amandayatesgarcia@gmail.com
Next, the Love…
If anyone knows the secret to staying in big feelings and using them to create worlds rather than destroy them, it’s POETS! So I wanted to share this Substack feed I follow with you. Maggie Smith, a poet. Do you follow her?
In her recent post - Maggie Smith: What can a poem do? — she writes a meditation on how art can help us in harrowing times.
Also, she includes a list of poems that can make us glad to be alive (which I think we all need right now), like this one, by…
Ellen Bass, “Wild Figs”
Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me
the detail, the intricate embroidery
on the collar, tiny shell buttons,
the hem stitched the way you were taught,
pricking just a thread, almost invisible.
Unclasp it like jewels, the gold
still hot from your body. Empty
your basket of figs. Spill your wine.
That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it,
cradling it on my tongue like the slick
seed of pomegranate. I would lift it
tenderly, as a great animal might
carry a small one in the private
cave of the mouth.Protection Bath for the Waning Moon
If you’re feeling drained, below I’ve given you a recipe for a Protection Bath I love.
All you have to do to make the bath is assemble the following herbs in a pouch, sachet or cheesecloth, and place in the water when you take a bath. If you only have a shower, you can use it kind of like soap…