I’ll just name the elephant in the room, to get that over with. Today is November 5th, 2024: Election Day in the United States of America. And a consequential election it is.

I feel the dread. I feel the hope and the work and the joy. I’ve traded my share of memes; I’ve had a heck of a lot of serious conversations with people I love. I’ve written letters asking folks in states I’ve lived in and loved to get out their vote. And none of that is what today is for.

Today is a threshold. A holy one. Maybe you’ll think I’m being dramatic. But my favorite definition of “holy” is simple: set aside for a special purpose. Today’s special purpose is very specific, and it doesn’t take all day. So once you’ve done it, what is today for?

I have cast my ballot—federal, state, district, city—so now I’m waiting on the threshold, knocking at the door, with all of you. Yes, I know that the people who open that door will determine (for example) whether I may keep my legal right, as a woman, to body-autonomy and self-determination equal to a man’s. That is just one example. There is nothing at all I can usefully do about it right now.

Something I can usefully do with this threshold moment is pause. Rest that body, that soul. Put down my knowledge and opinions for a little holy while.

Are you tired? God, I am. It’s an exhausting time. (Even as it’s also an exciting time, rich with opportunity to collectively shape a kinder future we can be proud to pay forward.) Something I cannot do today: stand willingly on the edge of the knife. I’m not looking at instagram, or or even a google search page. I’m not allowing notifications. I’m not reading the news.

I’m reading, but it’s print, and it’s old. (I queried my bookshelf first thing, and the answer was Ursula Le Guin’s Always Coming Home.) I’m letting the time-traveling power of the thoughtfully-written word speak deeply what I need to remember.

I’m singing, and sharing songs with friends. I’m letting the physical resonance heal me, and words of joy and praise for this world remind me why I do politics in the first place. I’m doing this digitally, because at present I must, but if you like to sing and you have someone to sing with, I hope you seek that out. It’s a healing force.

I’m revising poetry. I’m working on my developing vocation. I’m holding silence, except to sing. I’m living in this waiting, and trying to only attend. Today is a day for old books, wise songs, and not looking for news until there is substantive news to look for.

Whatever the outcome(s) of the election itself, it will not heal the rifts in our country, our families, our selves. That work will go on; we will go on doing it. It’s the work of our individual and collective lives. We must do it, and one way or another I acknowledge that it will go on being just that: work. Right work, hard work. Sometimes defiant, sometimes dispiriting, sometimes fired up with joy. I bless that work, and all of us for doing it. The way I’m blessing it today is by holding this threshold between—among other things—the work and the work.

And of course I want to leave you with a poem.