February 1st: how are you?

Today, I was asking myself if I should even write or post photographs here, not when those mountain pines are calling me and the world writes a story of seriousness and sorrow. I thought of taking a break, the same kind of break that one might request when they rent a log cabin or walk into the woods, they don't necessarily go there to hear the owl howl or watch the fallen tree branches crackle underneath their feet, it is more a matter of getting away from the world. I know it is in me to stay here, but it is also in me to run far away - How many times have I said this. Perhaps, too many. Perhaps, this is the language of my privilege - the ability to choose.

I have written and rewritten this five times already and none of the words come out as I want them to. Each time I end a sentence, I erase it with a frowning brow and each time I begin one, I tell myself, it is the last time or else I'm going to stop trying and hide underneath the bed sheets. I never realized how hard it would be to write today. I always thought writing during times of trouble would flow like music to the ears of a person who has been sobbing. Instead, I sit here, aimless.

I am standing on the arm of a question and I don't know if I'm going to find the answer or not.

The truth is, I believe, even when there is sorrow as there is now, even when there are decisions being made by strangers that put splinters in our hearts, we shouldn't stop pursuing what makes us happy and even more important to humanity as a whole, we shouldn't stop making art. Fighting for freedom and taking a moment to appreciate a leaf moving through the quiet street are not mutually exclusive. Caring for the well being of another and taking time out of your day to write a poem does not make you care less. Art can ease the suffering, but it does not entirely remove us from it. How are we to go on if we don't put food in our bellies? How are we to survive if we don't have the encouragement to do so? Art helps me to get out of bed so I can do what is right and what is right is to lessen the suffering of others or at least try. Sometimes, that means showing my teeth or singing songs that come from the gut or simply providing a moment of escapism for those who are in this fight too. It also means listening, really listening.

We are not wrong for continuing to read blogs that talk about flowery things like dresses, we are not wrong for logging off, we are not wrong for donating to the cause, we are not wrong for writing about it, we are not wrong for feeling, we are not wrong for howling, we are not wrong for protecting our mental health by getting rest, we are not wrong for fighting in regards to human rights, we are not wrong for planning the garden, we are only wrong if we rise in the morning with the desire to ensure others live only how we live, think only how we think or look only how we look. If it is in our desire to make sure other beings are hurting, then the time is now to seek professional mental help.

At first, I believed it would be better to hide than to write or share. After all, who am I but a Canadian woman? What could I contribute? I feel though as of now, it is in my privilege as a writer of a blog which is read by people from countries different than my own that I should say to you how I am thinking of you and my home will always be your home too.

What are your thoughts? How are you feeling? Where are you from? What can we do to help?

Leave your response in the comments and I'll make sure to respond to you.