I’ll spare you my opinions on the election, but there is a deep thundering within me.  Sorrow wants to swallow me whole and hold me in grief’s endless prison.  And the world is simply a atilt, dizzying, and bewildering. A planet galactic and empty and cold.

However, I just want to say this to writers, artists, and truthtellers everywhere: just for now, hold on, breath by shaky breath.

Because  somehow, some way we all need to find our way back to ourselves. Back to each other. And to muddle through the next four years while still writing, engaging, and getting on with our lives. I’m not suggesting we must cross a political  or moral divide, or surrender along the way. But we do need those we trust around us. We do need to feel the ground under our feet.

There is no correct or proper order to wending our way back.

As the shock fades, we need to recover our equilibrium, slow our heartrate. Exhange our shallow breaths for those more fullsome.

We need to find and make meaning in our daily lives, and search out sparks of hope, strength, and inspiration. Now, I’m not suggesting we look for rainbows, but to find encouraging words, safe places, and fellow truthtellers. And stick with them.

Because we must rebuild or find a kind of temple or sanctuary. At our desks, in the woods or on a yoga mat. With our kids, our loves, our confidants.  Or maybe visiting an art museum will rehabilitate your equilibrium. There’s a huge park full of  playgrounds and walking trails a few miles from my home. I’m usually walking there alone so as I’m dodging the dog walkers and skateboarders, strollers and kids chasing each other, I’m also filling up on a sweet dose of humanity–not to mention happy dog energy.

Whenever grief or threat or loss come along, we will always need a means to return to who we are. No matter if our sanctuary is buried under rubble. No matter if our search map is tattered.  No matter if  it feels like you’re twisting, struggling  in a gone-mad world. A real-life Hunger Games.

What matters is that we keep telling and writing truths in all their forms. Make our voices heard. Our art seen.

Because humans have always made art and told stories in the face of evil, injustice, and madness.

What matters is we figure out how to reset.

But for now, as we feel what needs to be felt,  our special alchemy will be in the making. Our inner  glittering treasures that we’re going to share will emerge. Even if today we’re stumbling in the dark.