Why we must grieve in the time of Trump

And how sitting with the excruciating heartbreak is the only way we can save our democracy

Photo by Jun on Unsplash

After George Floyd was murdered, I remember watching a dharma talk from Dr. Larry Ward where he told us that he grieves every morning at the state of America. That he allows himself to cry. Sob even. That all of this was part of his daily mindfulness practice, and if he didn’t allow himself to do so, these feelings of grief — anger, sadness, confusion, powerlessness — would just stay in his body, waiting to contort into other things.

I remember how struck I was by Larry’s share and the sheer wisdom that came from understanding how much weight he was carrying as a Black man during that time. I have thought a lot about this practice since then and have slowly given myself a contained space to grieve at what’s happening to the United States right now.

All of it has been hard to watch. From the Signal chat security breach to the aggressive militant push to take over Greenland, the list is as endless as the number of files that being buried by the CDC to support RFK’s agenda of eliminating vaccines.

But amidst all the chaos and fear-mongering, what often hurts my heart the most when reading the news is seeing all the ways in which our humanity is being disregarded — or rather seeing all the ways that our basic human rights are disregarded — if you are an immigrant, a trans person or are pro Palestine. The blatant misuse of power and neglect for the systems of balance that ensure we uphold a democracy is vile and atrocious.

And it hits very close to home.

As a child of refugees, I often fume when reading about how these hundreds of Venezuelans were labeled as “gang members” because of the tattoos on their bodies — even though so many of them sought asylum from the exact gang they are being accused of being part of.

This is when my heart breaks.

And instead of simply closing my Apple news app and moving on to other things, I have begun to lean into the tenderness of this heartbreak, feeling the edges around it.

My heart aches as I think about what would have happened if a Trump administration had ruled when my parents immigrated to this country. What if we had been targeted and used as political pawns from a superficial piece of evidence with no legal resources or grounds?

I think about the Lavender Scare when I see my trans siblings being erased from existence, knowing that the strides our Queer community have made in the last few decades would not have been possible without their courage.

And I think about the bit of fear that came up when I recently wore a keffiyeh to show my solidarity for the Palestinian people, knowing this is just .000001% of how it must feel for a community who is all too familiar with being silenced into extinction.

Touching Your Grief

Photo by Nahid Hatami on Unsplash

My invitation to you this week is to not look away, but instead look at what’s happening to the world and allow yourself to feel. We as Americans have grown an aversion to grieving and we must find ways to collectively process together.

Breeshia Wade speaks speaks so eloquently about how grief is a necessity for us to fight against the systemic oppression that our country was not only built on, but is being expanded upon under this current administration.

“…the flourishing of systemic oppression within the United States is a direct result of our cultural aversion to acknowledging grief and impermanence…the suffering created by systemic injustice is a direct result of people in positions of privilege using the power of their social location to avoid the reality of grief and impermanence, thus pushing the burden of their fear of loss onto marginalized people who then suffer extraordinarily, all while carrying their own grief.”

We cannot and must not ignore what is happening. This is what an embodied, everyday practice of engaged Buddhism looks like. This is what mindfulness looks like when we apply it. It is not just for a moment of relaxation on our cushion or at the end of a yoga class, but a tool for us to cope and be with the suffering of the world.

We must grieve so we can see the full impact of the atrocities that are happening before our eyes. We must grieve so we can transform the roots of this anger and hate that is so deeply embedded in our country. Otherwise, we will just keep on perpetuating this awful cycle of oppression, repeating history again and again. This, as Larry writes, is America’s karma.

We must grieve because we have to remember we are all human. Because if we don’t, this will continue. And I, for one, don’t want to look back at this moment in time and wonder what could have been different. Remember to move your body, stand on the earth, let yourself cry, scream if you need to — please just don’t look away.

We all need your hearts more than ever right now.

Practicing with your grief

Take a few minutes out of your day to allow yourself to sit with your feelings of grief about the state of America. Remember to come back to your breath and your other senses if your mind wanders or spins.

Take breaks if you need to.

But keep coming back. Allow whatever emotions arise. Don’t try to think them away. Observe and let them be. Let them run the course of your body.

Don’t forget to be gentle with yourself during this process. Keep coming back to your breath and body as your emotions move through you. Remember, grieving is not linear, nor is it fast.

Think of this as the beginning of a long-term friendship with your grief. Remember it is there to serve a purpose, to tell you something only you can hear.

Just listen. This is the practice.

Now, take a moment to read this poem to yourself or out loud. This is from my Narrative Healing friend leseliey rose; it has been such a lovely resource for me during this time.

My invitation is for you to read it and let the words wash over and encircle you.

Take good care, my friends.

from my heart to yours,

kt

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ENCIRCLE ME

by leseliey rose

Encircle me

in strong arms

Like a bear hug

But not

Let the circle

Be snug

but not too tight

Steady but secure

Let me cry

Like I’m not in my 40s

Ugly cry existential tears

Sob and shake

As I lament

the world

We’ve made

Let me stay

As long as it takes

To feel soothed

Whisper to me

That I’m safe and

Tell me to give you

the weight off my shoulders

Pat me on the bridge

called my back

Like we pat

baby bottoms at bedtimeLet me lay

my head on your chest

feel its rise and fall

hear your heart beat

and remember…

there’s a God

that breathes us

that lives in us

And tell me

God is not done

With this world

Not done

with me

yet

And let me

believe you

Encircled

in strong arms

Let me believe

It’s all going to be okay