Found this buried in my blog archive. I apparently never pressed "Publish" and in the aftermath was too verklempt (that's Yiddish for 'wrecked') to notice. Wanted to share...
November 5th. I've only been here for a few days and yet I already have a sense of the heart of these people. Why? Because they present themselves authentically, immediately. Yesterday, to escape howling wind and sidewise rain (a typical Wellington spring day), Geoffrey and I wandered the Te Papa Museum, a colossal building housing national treasures, natural history and art. Our guide gave us an extended introduction in Maori, then translated it as the traditional greeting wherein one tells their name, where they came from, where they are now and where they are going. It's quite a lot of good information to know about oneself and share with everyone one meets. It feels like a very present, heart-centered way of being. Although we only scratched the surface of the Museum collections in a single day, the most profound thing we saw was a Maori marae, or community meeting place. This is a constructed a-frame 'house' that is entirely carved with figures that represent the community's spiritual beliefs and ancestors. There are figures that are guardians of the space and the people, figures that are the embodiment of their shared ancestors, about whom they carry stories from generation to generation. They have a deep and practical relationship with their ancestry and to the land from whence they came. They maintain responsibility to their lineage, and allow it inform their actions today. Can you imagine what would be possible under those circumstances? If every time a group of people met up to make some sort of group decision for the whole, they were literally held, supported and informed by their ancestors? That is a powerful practice! It also creates a sense of togetherness and oneness among the people for they share a common history and future. The first time we saw this type of 'meeting house' was years ago in Yap, Micronesia and while I wasn't thrilled with the notion that the houses were only for men, I was impressed by how knit together the community was. And now of course I realize there is a beautiful precision to how the masculine and feminine operates, and it is good for the men to meet alone. The feminine influences what goes on in those meeting houses through relationships to fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. The dance is always happening...
November 6th. It's amazing how many people I meet want to talk about the election. They are confused about how Donald Trump can be a contender and want me to make them feel better. I assure them that there is no way he can win, that Americans are smarter than that and yet I have my doubts. My time in the American South this summer opened up my (California Dreaming) eyes and I have a sense that we will elect this man who speaks to our basest natures and deepest illusions and fears. I don't really have any place to hold that, so I voraciously pray for Hillary's success. I will accept no other outcome. I am repeatedly torn between being glad I'm here in these days leading up to the election and feeling like I should be there, shoulder to shoulder with my people. I feel somewhat relieved to be out of the intensity and yet I am glued to Facebook and American news outlets, hungry for new polls and projections. I vacillate between feeling nervous and scared and being unbelievably calm, like the eye of a hurricane. Doing lots of Kundalini, lots of presencing practices, breath, prayer. God help us.
November 7th. A sunny day! I went to the Botanical Gardens - a sheer delight. I walked the whole way there (probably five miles), cutting through a network of pedestrian paved pathways that were named just like streets. Also cut through the University which had a very old, cool cemetery. Many sailors from downed ships. The garden itself was huge with lots of places to find oneself alone. I wandered and followed my nose to different areas, each with a completely different energy. Highlights were hiking in a vast vertical forest with moss-lined creeks running through and a small bonsai garden with the most astounding trees. They looked exactly like their full-grown brethren, except they were dwarf size. Had a lovely lunch in the restaurant overlooking the rose garden, eavesdropping on the conversations all around me. No matter where I am in the world, people talk about the exact same things.
November 8th. Raining sideways again. Ventured out and discovered I am entirely weary of being wet. Explored, found a few marginal 'museums', shopped unenthusiastically and went back to the hotel to witter the hours with movies. The election is tomorrow in the states. I am finding it difficult to breathe deeply.
November 9th. Spent the day with my stomach and throat clenched in knots, despite my efforts to relax them. I am literally beside myself. I have a very bad sense that this means complete disaster. Did all I could to distract myself, which is difficult given the near constant dark, blowing rain. I am glued to the computer most of the day, watching early results. Trump leads from the get-go.
Later: Geoffrey came back from work and convinced me to walk to dinner - which was a stellar meal, one of the best we've had here. Everyone at the restaurant was talking about the election. It is amazing to see how influential America is all around the world. When we get back to the hotel, it is inevitable that Trump will win. I cry quietly, tears rushing down my face. Geoffrey has no words of comfort and I resent him for being okay with this outcome. Just then Nikki face-times us and when she sees me, she says with surprise, "Are you CRYING??" Why is it a surprise I would cry about our country electing a man who stands for everything I abhor? He is mean, cruel, dishonest, ignorant and most dangerously, thinks he's right about everything. His heart seems tiny, like his hands. I know with a certainty history will prove his Presidency to be a COMPLETE DISASTER. And yet we have called him in, so there must be some long-term good that will come of it. I hope I get to see it in my lifetime. I am going to bed to cry myself to sleep. Perhaps the world will look different tomorrow.
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