Earlier this week, I found a moth bashing up against the window screen. She was a little worse for the wear, wings a bit tattered, and a voice in my head said, “Pandora.”
You know the legend, how Pandora’s jar was opened up and all the evils of the world were released. But there was one last creature left in the jar when the lid was replaced: Hope, squashed but still fluttering at the bottom of the container.
I have been using the language of multi-layered crisis to describe our current conditions – health crisis, economic crisis, environmental crisis, justice crisis – yet this is incomplete. Intertwined with all of these, there is Hope. And it’s not a weak and fluttery thing.
I see millions of people rising up to care for others who are ill, despite the risks to their own well-being.
I see entrepreneurs creating new solutions for these changing times, and communities rallying around local points of exchange.
I see skies clearing and gardens sprouting, everywhere.
I see peaceful protest and sold-out books and open-hearted action and painful reflection and deep listening.
None of this might have been needed if times were more ordinary.
None of this might have been possible if times were more ordinary.
Dear ones, we are swimming in a sea that can’t be seen, because we’re in it. Our arms are tired and our eyes are stinging and our breath is ragged. But the winds are shifting.
Who knows what they might bring?