Discomfort as teacher, time as abundance
Learning from Black and Indigenous thinkers in these times of dissolution
This morning, my dog and I walked the route that we’ve taken for years. We crossed the bridge over the Neponset River where mud-caked rocks rose from the drought-slowed waters. And as the trucks and cars barreled by us, I thought, as I often have lately, about the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, two years and some months ago. The street was so quiet during lockdown; the silence, profound. In that silence, amid the suffering, fear, and death, there also grew some wild hope—in me, in my partner, in our friends and comrades, in the people whose words we read and listened to. Hope that all of this pain and uncertainty would spark revolution, transformation, change. That, in Arundhati Roy’s words, the pandemic would become a portal. That things had become so bad that there was nowhere to go except toward a radically different, better, more just world.
I felt that hope surge again during the uprisings following George Floyd’s murder. So many people across the country seemed to unite under the call to defund the police. So many people were finally naming white supremacy and anti-Black racism as root causes of the conditions of our society, and communities of color were coming together across differences, in solidarity and power.
I think I naïvely imagined—or perhaps more accurately, I hoped against hope—that change would come swiftly and smoothly. That the radical transformation of society would take place without resistance. That white supremacy would go down without a fight and the capitalist economy would easily make way for cooperative, sustainable economies. That we would emerge from the pandemic’s portal unscathed, shining, and glorious in our new-found, or newly recovered, wisdom and love for one another and all beings on this planet.
Of course I was wrong. These last few months in particular have felt terribly brutal, perhaps even more so because of these dreams and hopes. From the slew of regressive, reactive Supreme Court decisions, to the economic pain of inflation and price-gouging, to the violent and frightening actions of white supremacist and anti-LGBTQIA+ groups in my community and around the U.S., and more…there have been so many threats to us, the people and communities I hold dear. So many blows to the hope of a future where the climate crisis is abated, to the dream of a just and loving society.
And when I say I was wrong, I don’t mean that the pandemic was not a portal. I don’t mean to say that we are not on our way to a world we all deserve. I think this is still true. What I mean is that those hopes I harbored of a fast and easy transformation were utterly false. All the forces of power under threat are fighting back. On some level, despite my hopes, I always knew this would be true, and I’m not surprised by all that is unfolding.
But that doesn’t make it any less hard. Living through times of dissolution, of the crumbling and tearing down of harmful, violent systems, is painful in so many ways. It’s hard on my psyche, my body, my heart. I’m witnessing the same in others.
So I thought perhaps it might be useful to share some of what I’m learning, thinking, and leaning into right now about how to move through these times we live in. Not surprisingly, I’m finding that the wisdom that most resonates with me are largely shared by queer Black and Indigenous women, trans people, and nonbinary folks. I’m deeply grateful to these teachers, thinkers, and models, and I’m supporting them financially and through amplifying their work. I hope that if what I share below is useful to you, you will do the same as you are able.
I recently listened to Prentis Hemphill’s podcast, Finding Our Way (more on the specific episode below) where they talked about the space that’s created when we feel discomfort. How staying with discomfort and asking questions in that space leads to growth and maturity. I’ve been carrying that with me, trying to learn from the medicine of discomfort. To be okay with not being okay. To not try to fix anything or find ways to make myself feel better when I feel hard things, but rather to ask what the discomfort or pain is showing me, what information I’m gaining from it, and how I can grow from this space.
This doesn’t mean being okay with societal conditions that are not okay. And in this realm, I’m finding adrienne maree brown’s reminders—on Instagram, in her and her sister’s podcast How to Survive the End of the World, and the episode of On Being featuring her—very helpful. She often evokes the many people who have been preparing for these times. She has helped me see clearly how movements for reproductive justice, racial justice, economic justice, climate justice, queer and trans liberation today are vibrant and powerful, with more tools now than we ever had before.
I see in the portal manifesting in these movements. The work of so many organizers over decades (centuries) have grown and amplified, reaching many more people and deepening our learning. I see how, in our movements, more of us have more connections to each other, more access to our own and each other’s wisdom, more understanding of our position among ourselves and in relationship to white supremacy, capitalism, colonialism, etc., and more clarity about what we can do in our positions. This is power; this is balm.
I also find balm in grounding into the immensity, abundance, and vastness of time. To remember that this moment is just the tiniest blip in the vast history of this earth and the history of humans on this earth. Indigenous people have lived on, loved, and stewarded the earth for millennia. The Indigenous hosts and guests on podcast All My Relations often reference the long history of Indigenous people, as host Adrienne Keene did recently when reading from the introduction of her new book, Notable Native People: 50 Indigenous Leaders, Dreamers, and Changemakers from Past and Present:
As the first people of their respective lands, American Indian people, Alaska Native people, and Kānaka Maoli have expertly stewarded and cared for the land, built vast cities and societies, utilized democratic governance, and carried and shaped cultural practices and traditions for centuries.
This colonial project, this society ruled by white supremacy and capitalism, did not exist for a long time. And we know it cannot continue forever—or even much longer. In an episode of “For the Wild,” Kānaka Maoli scholar and poet Dr. Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio connected the deep past of Indigenous communities to the future we can create:
In fact, in the grand scheme of things when you look at the age of our Indigenous communities, some of us have been here, our stories go back to darkness. We are much, much older, much much more sophisticated than the strange society we live in. And the only way we get to live in that beauty again is if we have the courage to see beyond now, if we have the faith in the teachings of our ancestors, to see beyond and create beyond now.
And in the episode of Finding Our Way I referenced earlier, Osorio talked also about how the land, ʻāina, will outlive us. The earth in its abundance will heal from the trauma and damage caused by the destruction of colonialism and extraction.
Being reminded of the connections between the deep past and far future rooted in the land and Indigenous sovereignty is immensely comforting. When I am able to see this moment in this perspective, I am reminded that that the work I do, as small as it may feel, is part of a much larger course of history. It re-grounds me in accountability and responsibility, while forcing my ego to take a back seat. I can remember that I am carrying the wisdom and love of my ancestors who experienced their own apocalypses, endings, and beginnings. I can imagine that my work and how I live my life will resonate in some way across the generations that follow, though I will never know exactly how. Which means I must be rigorous, loving, and accountable while also letting go of the things I actually have no control of. Somehow, zooming so far out helps me live more in intensely in the present moment, knowing that all I am responsible for is doing my part really well, in community and on this larger, longer path toward liberation.
These are some of the ways that I am making it through these times. Other ways are: leaning into community, deepening my relationships with plants and seeds, communing with oceans.
How are you doing it? What strategies are you using to take care of your heart and those around you? What wisdom and medicine are you holding?
If you want to share the answers to any of these questions, I would love to hear them. You can share them in the comments, by email, or by tagging me on social media, and, with your permission, I’ll include them in next the newsletter, which will come out in October.
Prompting
Sit or lay on the ground. Take some deep breaths and let your body settle.
Feel how you are held by gravity to the earth.
The earth beneath you has been around for a very, very, very, long time. See if you can feel into a scope of time far vaster than a human lifetime. Imagine the length of each inhale is five hundred years, each exhale, five hundred years. Count three inhales and three exhales into the future or into the past. Where are you? What is the world like?
Listen to what the earth might have to say to you three thousand years in the future or past. When you are ready, write what you heard or experienced.
Engaging
Links to all the podcasts and people I mentioned above, as well as others that have informed my thinking recently, and ways to support them.
Finding Our Way, with Prentis Hemphill.
Recent favorite episode: Aloha ‘Āina with Dr. Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio
Become a patron
Recent favorite episode: Black & Native Futures: Liberation and Sovereignty
Become a patron
Buy Notable Native People: 50 Indigenous Leaders, Dreamers, and Changemakers from Past and Present, by Adrienne Keene
Favorite recent For the Wild podcast episodes:
How to Survive the End of the World, with adrienne maree brown and Autumn Brown.
Current favorite episode: It’s Our Revival.
Become a patron.
Seeds and their People Radio Show
Favorite recent episode: Kai Delgado Pfeifer and Filipinx ancestral food and plant medicine
Become a patron.
Buy Remembering our Intimacies: Moʻolelo, Aloha ʻĀina, and Ea by Dr. Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio
Community/announcements
For those of you in the Boston area, I have two upcoming, in-person readings in the following days:
New Narratives Series: Present and Future
Featuring live performances by Boston-area spoken artists and performers who draw upon a wide range of artistic styles, cultural traditions, and languages from AAPI communities and beyond, the event series activates artist Cheryl Wing-Zi Wong’s YEAR OF THE TIGER installation in Mary Soo Hoo Park.
Sat, August 13
3:00 - 6:00 pm
Mary Soo Hoo Park, Beach Street, Boston
Third Thursdays Poetry: Niki Tulk, Joshua Nguyen, Chen Chen, & Tamiko Beyer
Thurs, Aug 18
7:00 pm
Brookline Booksmith, 279 Harvard Street, Brookline
And also, happy birthday, Dad!
Thank you for reading to the end! I’m taking September off, and I’ll be back in your inbox on October’s full moon, 10/9/22. Until then, be well—and share with me how you are staying as well as you can!
Remembering that we are taught to take on the shame of the failure of a system. We are to believe we are to blame for the failure of a system. Remembering this helps me separate the shame that keeps me immobile and the responsibility I feel to work towards change. Spending energy and resources supporting, uplifting and liberating communities who are most oppressed is a way to transmute anger and rage about the failure of the system. Planting the seeds that I know I will never get to see the fruit of the labor. My children and their ability to creatively solve the impossible.
This was so beautiful to read, Tamiko. Thank you.