Not Today, Hades

The end of days felt close this week with the leaden cloak of human suffering hanging over us. I’m naive and uncomfortable with political discourse. I shy away from any conversation that engages my opinion on matters that I don’t fully understand. I once taught a course on current world crises and I have never felt quite so depressed in all my life. I was obsessed with how badly things were going for humans all over the globe and incensed at our inability to fix it. We are, at the end of the day, animals—each of us is ready to pounce if our environment demands it.I know that to be true even of myself. What a difficult task it is to live life as a human.

A few days ago I listened as David Muir solemnly told the story of a young mother and her babies kidnapped by Hamas. I saw two little redheads in her arms in one clip, saw them drape a bag over her head and dirt-covered face in another. As is customary with me, I don’t just watch the news, I feel it. I lost my appetite and the love I was trying to insert into that evening’s meal fell away. I felt depressed and helpless. I have no power over atrocity and that makes me burn with anger. The more mesmerized I was by shock and horror of the news as I navigated the busyness of a week with three kids and a full-time job, the more I thought about that wounded deer I didn’t stop for last week (see issue 217) I’m haunted by that; I still see her eyes, the blood, her panic.

Before dawn one morning, I reread my piece about the deer and thought more about why it was significant that I did not stop to help. I walked outside to my car and saw three crows fly over my head and mock me from above. I was immediately reminded of Dad’s line about “three raucous crows.” “Hi Dad.” I said. “The acorns are falling.” I told him. I don’t believe in ghosts nor do I have a traditional concept of “god”. I do believe, however, in the power of something to bring someone back to life in your mind. I talked to Dad on my way to work, out loud. I told him that I was trying to write a new piece on a bunch of different things and I didn’t know how to “braid” it all together. I told him I was sad for the mom on the news, for the deer, for Fred, for Thomas. I talked to him about why I didn’t stop for the deer, why that was significant, why I needed to write about it. I didn’t get answers, but here I am a few days later writing about it to all of you who care in an attempt to send a ripple through your day and night.

The day I talked to Dad, I decided in the car that I would take my students outside and have them write about what they saw, felt, smelled, etc. It was one of those perfect fall mornings and I couldn’t let these angsty teens spend all of it inside concrete. Levity was called for to confront the heavy I told them when we took a chilly morning walk. I pointed out the pine trees, flowers, and moss growing out of the rocks. “Do you smell the ocean in the air today?” I asked one student. “I think I smell cinnamon.” he said very seriously. “You can practically feel Persephone’s dramatic exit” I said to another. I don’t think they got the reference. By the end of the day, I was encouraging students to hug trees for the second time in my career. The last time I had done that we were just coming back from Covid, the sad eyes behind the masked faces told me it was the right move. They still talk about it today and one recently wrote to me about the impact that class had. “Miss! Look at me! I’m huggin’ a tree!” I remember one of them saying as he embraced a young maple. I watched as a student in my 7th period class mouth the words “oh.my.god” to her friends as I wrapped one arm around a sycamore and said “es mi amigo”. “My job today is to convince all of you that you may be right. I may be crazy. But it just may be a lunatic you’re lookin’ for.” (Thanks Billy Joel). I love my job, I really do.

By Friday, I had a fully formed guided present tense poetry writing exercise based on their experiences outside and “I am a Rock” by Simon & Garfunkel which I told them to listen to this weekend for homework. I wrote them this letter to explain why I decided to do this lesson:

Dear students,

The letters you see on this page have made words to convey a message to you. I can write anything right now and make you laugh, cry, smile, or even change your mind. Language is a means of communication and that is very important. However, language is also a means of creation. The lyrics of the songs you listen to each and every day are poems about life as a human being. They exist in every language and can convey stories that are passed down from generation to generation. Although we exist in a world where artificial intelligence could have written this entire paragraph you just read, as your teacher I am here to say that we exist in a world where real intelligence is where the soul of humanity exists. Today, you will use the target language of Spanish (because, after all, this is Spanish class) to create something uniquely beautiful and creative about the world around you at a time when the world around all of us is a little unsteady. Your superpower as a human being is to use your ability to create to help change this world for the better starting with today.

Your fellow human,

Señora Alfaro

I was so proud of this moment that I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Thomas, a rare moment of boast for me. But, I am proud. And crazy. But the good kind of crazy, the kind that adds a little spice to your day like the sprinkle of cinnamon on your oh so bougie latte. I’m drinking “The Courtney” at Restoration Coffee right now while Maire is at soccer tryouts because being bougie while I write feels good. John Denver is yodeling away, the buzz of humanity is around me, a baby laughs, a family chats, an old man rocks back and forth while the workers serve him his breakfast with a love that they have shown him before I’m sure. I look at a small framed picture of Anthony Bourdain next to the front window, it smells like Thanksgiving for some reason in here, and I think about his legacy and what a tortured life he must have lived in private. I still remember him eating in a small restaurant in Vietnam with Obama, what I would have given to be at that table.

Life as a human is hard and I often get pulled down not unlike Persephone into that dark world of bearing witness to all the misery and suffering of this messed up world. But, alas, I cannot pay for the sins of men who kill children and I will not pour my energy into situations I cannot transform. That deer I didn’t stop for is probably long gone from this world now and I release her from mine as well. All I can do is love as hard as I can where I can and continue to be vulnerable enough to bare my quirky soul to those who need its nourishment; I will resist the pull of despair and will not wring my hands in existential angst. Not today, Hades. Not today.