Some thoughts for this time, a Rumi poem, and a writing prompt

As I'm teaching my Writing to Heal class, it's profound to also be living at this time when so much imbalance, violence, and greed is right there on the surface of much of our public life.

There's such a juxtaposition between the heart and beauty of the work so many are doing to repair and the damage that is happening in so many spheres.

I want to reach out to say I hope you’re doing okay.

Whatever is happening, I still believe in our ability to grow and heal; I believe in the goodness of people; I see the goodness of people every single day in so many ways.

I see teachers bringing groceries to students who don't feel safe coming to school because of ICE, see doctors caring for patients in great need; I have friends in the streets of Minneapolis in three-degree weather, friends who are caring for their children and parents. I have friends who are immigrants and refugees who have made it to the US and are living brave, kind lives. I see politicians and activists putting themselves at risk to take a stand, see farmers and naturalists regenerating the soil and preserving natural habitats, see musicians and artists making beautiful art that brings solace.

I see people who are doing the work to become better in themselves, more whole, more open, more loving and well.

We also see what is happening in many places: We see the lies. We see the violence. We see and are all affected (if, of course, to varying degrees) by the suffering.

ICE, the Epstein files, the greed of the corporations and oil industry over the wellbeing of the earth itself, the big brother capacity of AI and new technology that depletes our energy and water systems...Power, greed, and misperceptions are their own kind of disease. I don't know what the outcome will be.

But I believe that our role as humans and as artists is to be witnesses: to not be dragged down by what we see but to keep shining our light, to keep integrating our thought, speech, and action.

It is also our job to feel, to feel the heartbreak and fear.

None of this is easy. But it’s important, and it’s deeply human–and humane.

We live in a world where the most powerful think that all that matters is money–we're on a race to more that is bringing us all to the edge of a cliff…

Practice pausing, stopping, changing direction.

Make your art.

Speak out. Call your politicians. Protest. Care for your neighbors. Spend and give your money wisely. These are pivotal times.

It's so easy to feel that what we do doesn't matter. But I believe it does.

Where we place our attention matters, and we neither turn away nor do we turn to stone when we look at what is there. Instead, we metabolize it and keep trusting in the truth and in what is right.

As I try to practice what I'm speaking of above, I also turn to Rumi, as is often the case when things feel confusing.

I want to share one of Rumi's haunting, enigmatic poems with you:

Silver Coins
by Rumi
trans. Coleman Barks

Put your cheek against this cheek.

Forget anger and men planning war.

When I hold out silver coins, take them,

and give me a cup of gold light.

You can open the wide door of the sky.

Surely you will open me.

All I have is this emptiness.

Give it a nickname.

Breaker and healer, break and heal this head.

Do not press your seal to that pistachio nut.

Put it here. There is that in me

that has to be told fifty times a day,

Stop hunting. Step on this net.
 

Rumi’s poem is full of unexpected juxtapositions and turns. Rather than a “well-wrought urn”—a term in new critical literary theory taken from a Keats poem to signify how a perfect poem holds everything together—the aesthetics of Rumi’s poetry is surprise; his poems create movement and work with emptiness and uncertainty.

Here's my imperfect reading of the poem (and this reading is an example of how the meaning of a poem can’t be paraphrased): When we get close to others, both emotionally and physically, we can turn from anger and violence. In place of money, we get the incredible richness of the sun and the world as it is. The divine–who is the breaker and healer mentioned later–that opens the door of the sky can also open the self. When we stop hunting with the head, which Rumi himself needs to be reminded to stop doing, something else opens.

It is our job to step out onto the net. What is the net? Is it emptiness? Is it the relations that hold us? It is up to us to interpret, but we must take a physical action with the body. The poem reminds us that it's not the head that understands. It's the cheek next to another cheek in kindness; it's not money that has the answer, but something greater than us.

Writing Prompt: If you feel inspired to write, write your own poem (or essay or story) titled "Silver Coins." What holds value? Surprise yourself in your writing. Put things next to each other that might not normally be found next to each other. And include two commands: what do you or does a person need to be told not to do? And what should she do?

Take good care.

with love,
Nadia