Compassion Game

Kau Makahiki: Makahiki Season

Moon: Kulu

Month: Welehu

Year: 2024

I come to this quiet place, outside of social media, outside of posting on YouTube, to lean into the simple act of journalling. The heart this morning grieves as I trace the curiosity of a group of couples out kayaking yesterday, laughing joyous, juxtaposed against the cries of a person in response to a man in a big truck with a lot of American flags interspersed with his cult leader as I perceive it blasting out a song "we are the champions." 

It is true, my entire world has been rocked by this past election, and with it, largely unplugging from social media and beginning to unplug from mainstream news, and lean into one source, Heather Cox Richardson.

I had enrolled in an abundance of art classes, and a continuation of my Hawaiian classes, and taken to watching spiritual sorts read tarot cards until I had convinced myself that my choice of candidate would win. A self-protective mechanism perhaps. We were all wrong. 

I observe those who cherished the same hope begin to cultivate conspiracy theories and I began to wonder, how could this be? Could there have been cheating? Then I asked ChatGPT to tell me if it was possible for Elon Musk's Starlink to hack the election, and with a soft puff, there went that theory.

It has caused me, this election, to enter an existential crisis questioning all I have done in the world to care for my own being, imagining, somehow my contributions would contribute to the betterment of humanity, the cultivation of peace on earth, but alas, everything appears to be unraveling, and perhaps this is as it should be.

I hear the soft cries of hawk as I write, and lean into this blessing, and say thank you.

The call to oli, to chant calls me, and I know, this can wait.

Does it even matter? 

My medicine for the moment has been approaching strangers out and about and expressing to them, you may not have voted the way I did, but, I refuse to hate, and I would like to extend love towards you in our shared humanity.

I am losing track about the number and quality of experiences.

It is surfacing alot, my own hypocricy my own jealousies, the darkness in my own soul even.

It is not easy work.

But it is work, good work, nonetheless.

The hawk cries, and here I go, a return outside, with a second cup of decaf.

The chanting can wait.

Ah... now this feels good journaling... in private.