A good dream

 Last night, I was in bed by 8 and asleep before 9. That's a good night. 

And as a reward, I had the BEST dream, long and detailed, about a weekend getaway with Matthew McConaughey. It was really him (although very sane), and it was really me (although very cool, calm, and confident) in the dream (and our spouses were conveniently not an issue, and we were in Maine). But otherwise, very realistic. 

A good first chunk of the dream was driving through Maine on his motorcycle in the winter on snow. (Insert here that we just re-watched Pulp Fiction, or rather, showed Pulp Fiction to Umea and her boyfriend, who were both seeing it for the first time – another dream scenario! – which must have put "chopper" on the brain.) There were tunnels with entrances lined with icicles and frozen rivers and mush at roadside tavern parking lots. The pavement was dry, so no worry about wrecking. Just the cool wind on my face, tight abs beneath my palms, and a feeling of freedom and rightness. It went on and on. 

Then we arrived at the getaway site, some sort of camp/compound with lots of people convened for the weekend. We hiked into our spot – he'd reserved a cavern room just for us. He left to go to the bathroom, and I staked out the most level place for the tent. The caves were packed with snow (so maybe the realism got lost here a bit). Eventually, I wandered out to see the goings on in the rest of the compound. I ran into a good friend, lounging about with her husband and another friend. I joined them, and we got caught up a bit, me brimming over with the fun news that I was on a date with Matthew McConaughey. They were delighted for me. We all had a good giggle, and then I asked, very seriously, "What if he's never seen cellulite before???" They downplayed my worry and told me to focus on having fun. Good advice. 

In another room, UU scholars were milling about and talking shop. I met John Forrester, a planning theorist, and was delighted that he was UU (unconfirmed in real life). Matthew came in at some point, and we made eye contact, but neither of us moved to each other, so comfortable were we in our connection (or so I knew in the dream). 

Later, we got down to business, and that was also glorious and realistic. And no cellulite crisis. 

All in all? Really fun. I woke up with a big grin on my face when my alarm went off at 5:45 am to head to yoga. Cellulite be damned. 

Joy is Such a Human Madness: The Duff Between Us (essay) by Ross Gay

Or, like this: in healthy forests, which we might imagine to exist mostly above ground, and be wrong in our imagining, given as the bulk of the tree, the roots, are reaching through the earth below, there exists a constant communication between those roots and mycelium, where often the ill or weak or stressed are supported by the strong and surplused.

By which I mean a tree over there needs nitrogen, and a nearby tree has extra, so the hyphae (so close to hyphen, the handshake of the punctuation world), the fungal ambulances, ferry it over. Constantly. This tree to that. That to this. And that in a tablespoon of rich fungal duff (a delight: the phrase fungal duff, meaning a healthy forest soil, swirling with the living the dead make) are miles and miles of hyphae, handshakes, who get a little sugar for their work. The pronoun who turned the mushrooms into people, yes it did. Evolved the people into mushrooms.

Because in trying to articulate what, perhaps, joy is, it has occurred to me that among other things–the trees and the mushrooms have shown me this–joy is the mostly invisible, the underground union between us, you and me, which is, among other things, the great fact of our life and the lives of everyone and thing we love going away. If we sink a spoon into that fact, into the duff between us, we will find it teeming. It will look like all the books ever written. It will look like all the nerves in a body. We might call it sorrow, but we might call it a union, one that, once we notice it, once we bring it into the light, might become flower and food. Might be joy.

from The Book of Delights

Grown (essay) by Ross Gay

I suspect it is simply a feature of being an adult, what I will call being grown, or a grown person, to have endured some variety of thorough emotional turmoil, to have made your way to the brink, and, if you’re lucky, to have stepped back from it – if not permanently, then for some time, or time to time. Then it is, too, a kind of grownness by which I see three squares of light on my wall, the shadow of a tree trembling in two of them, and hear the train going by and feel no panic or despair, feel no sense of condemnation or doom or horrible alignment, but simply observe the signs – light and song – for what they are – light and song. And, knowing what I have felt before, and might feel again, feel a sense of relief, which is cousin to, or rather, water to, delight.

(July 27, 2019)

Pablo Neruda poems on time

 Excerpt from "Morning"

time was like never and always:
We go where nothing is expected
and find everything waiting there.

From one of his "Elemental Odes"

Listen and learn.
Time
is divided
into two rivers:
one
flows backward, devouring
life already lived;
the other
moves forward with you
exposing
your life.
For a single second
they may be joined.
Now.
This is that moment,
the drop of an instant
that washes away the past.
It is the present.
It is in your hands.
Racing, slipping,
tumbling like a waterfall.
But it is yours.
Help it grow
with love, with firmness,
with stone and flight,
with resounding
rectitude,
with purest grains,
the most brilliant metal
from your heart,
walking
in the full light of day
without fear
of truth, goodness, justice,
companions of song,
time that flows
will have the shape
and sound
of a guitar,
and when you want
to bow to the past,
the singing spring of
transparent time
will reveal your wholeness.
Time is joy.

 

State of the State Address for Illinois in 2026

Illinois Governor JB Pritzker delivered this state of the state address on Feb. 18, 2026.

Full address here. 

Excerpt:


"I have joked with many of you that I wish I could spend just one year of my governorship presiding over precedented times. I yearn for normal problems. It was a conversation I had more than once with my friend, the late Governor Jim Edgar. Jim and I didn’t share the same political party, but we did share something far more important – a fierce love of our country, and our state.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about love – about loving people and loving your country and the power involved in both.

Love is an affliction – it is the most fortifying of our emotions and the most debilitating. It refuses to ground itself in logic or reason. Its very existence enriches us even though its presence always creates chaos in our lives. Love is a superpower – it teaches the brittle to bend, it shows the selfish how to share, it grants courage to the coward.

Once sparked, love becomes momentum. It’s the sled gathering speed down the hill, it’s the drop of water as it tips over the falls, it’s glitter out of a bottle.

The bravest thing any of us will ever do in this life is to love without promise of reciprocation. Because love’s ferocity does not dim with rejection. Try to banish love to a shadow and it will only reach harder for the sun.

I know, right now, there are a lot of people out there who love their country and feel like their country is not loving them back. I know that.

I also know that love unrequited can break a heart made fragile by dashed hope.

Which is why it’s important for me to stand before you today and tell you that your country is loving you back – just not in the way you are used to hearing.

It’s not speaking in anthems or flags or ostentatious displays of patriotism. It will never come from the people who say the only way to love America is to hate Americans.

Love is found in every act of courage – large and small – taken to preserve the country we once knew. You will find it in homes and schools and churches and art. It is there; it has not been squashed.

Over the last 12 months, I’ve heard love start to shout here in Illinois. I heard it from the bicyclers who showed up in Little Village every day during Operation Midway Blitz to buy out tamale carts so the vendors could return to the safety of their homes. I heard it from the parishioners who formed human chains around churches so that immigrants could worship. I heard it from the moms in the school pick up line who whipped out their cameras and their whistles. I saw it in the face of every Midwesterner who put on their heaviest coat and protested outside on the coldest day.

I am begging my fellow politicians, my fellow Illinoisans, my fellow Americans to realize that right now in this country we are not fighting over policy or political party. We are fighting over whether we are going to be a civilization rooted in empathy and kindness — or one rooted in cruelty and rage.

What you choose to arm yourself with in this fight – love or hate – exposes which side you are fighting on. Only the weakest of people believe that love is the weakest of weapons.

And it turns out that love actually is all around – and that those who think that cruelty can destroy it, are incapable of understanding the power of a nation moved by it.

I love my country. I refuse to stop. The hope I have found in a very difficult year is that love is the light that gets you through a long night."

Some Thoughts on Mercy (essay) by Ross Gay

The Sun Magazine 

July 2013

• Garden
• Bees
• Traffic stop

Adrift (poem) by Mark Nepo

Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.
This is how the heart makes a duet of
wonder and grief. The light spraying
through the lace of the fern is as delicate
as the fibers of memory forming their web
around the knot in my throat. The breeze
makes the birds move from branch to branch
as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost
in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh
of the next stranger. In the very center, under
it all, what we have that no one can take
away and all that we’ve lost face each other.
It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured
by a holiness that exists inside everything.
I am so sad and everything is beautiful.

Homelessness Is a Housing Problem, and Zoning Is [One of] Housing's Problems

This poem summarizes the downstream impact of City Councilors saying no to every possible policy solution to the upstream causes of homelessness.

Yes to housing solutions and yes to anti-displacement measures. Yes together, and no to waiting for either to go first. Yes and yes and yes. 

When housing costs (rents and home prices) go up, homelessness goes up. That's the connection, more than any other "reason" people cite for rising homelessness. 

Capitalism has, of course, turned housing into a commodity, and rising home values are now linked to generational wealth for white families that benefited from VA loans and FHA loans that were denied, almost exclusively, to non-White families. That explains the gap in wealth between Black and white families. 

So now, all of the zoning that only allows 1 single-family house (the most costly housing type) + casita (the second most costly housing type) is effectively keeping housing out of the price range for all but those whose families can help with downpayments. Guess who those families are? 

It's time to level the playing field and open up more of Albuquerque to housing types that need less land per unit, which means they will have lower costs. For the most part, the profit margins of a few units of development are not enticing to the vast majority of developers or investment firms, so any development that happens will be local people who are in it for the honest buck. 

That doesn't sound bad to me. Sounds like it's about time. 

Transient and Permanent

Today's sermon by visiting minister the Rev. Nathan Ryan from Baton Rouge challenged us not to be distracted by the intentional overwhelm of the full-court press from a transient president and political moment and instead focus on the permanent truth of love, freedom, and justice. How are our actions – even those of just staying calm and centered – helping center universal truths that will endure, because they are more powerful and more permanent than any incomplete and narrow locus of hate and accumulation of power. 

The arc of the universe bends slowly (with much pendulum swinging) toward justice. And so, the inexorable march and commitment to love and compassion and multiple truths is the faithful act of resistance. 

I go back to the talk by Ross Gay of a black man writing a book about the joy he finds among the flowers in his garden as his act of changing the "ground" of reality. The powers that be want to ground him into a shadow of his full self, "just" a black man, limited in power, limited in leverage, limited in capacity to live and love fully. 

I, too, a white woman, with privilege and some leverage, must not hide in a bubble but keep myself grounded, joyful, peaceful, and committed to using my leverage in service of others. 

Do I do enough?

If I feel only 80% of my health and mental faculty, how do I know I am doing as much as I can do? To keep asking the question is to stay in discernment. To feel imbalance is to orient to balance. 

I am on the path and committed.