I woke up in the middle of the night last night, having had another dream about debating with The Donald. It was my second in the past two weeks. I really resent that he can show up uninvited like that. I will say that he didn’t do much talking. He mostly watched me as I did the shouting, the ranting really, about how real human beings should act. He merely made sneering faces and mocking gestures. I woke up shaking.
Anyhow, it was 2:15, and I was very awake, so I headed downstairs for a glass of water and decided that finishing the book I’d been reading this weekend might calm me down. It was a great antidote. The book, The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise had been recommended by our school’s librarian. I can’t thank her enough for that tip.
The cross-country grief journey of a father and daughter who’d lost their wife/mom and daughters/sisters couldn’t possibly be the uplifting counterpoint to a nightmarish encounter with that orange man…but it was. It was (conveniently) all about what it means to be human. Coyote, the 12-year-old narrator with the wisdom of an 80-year-old, is trying to reclaim her memories. It’s a wild and crazy quest. Toward the end, in a moment of desperation, as she clashes with an immovable opponent, she summons the words of her father:
“But then I remembered Rodeo [her father]. I remembered how he talked to folks. How he didn’t raise his voice, but talked soft. He talked right into their eyes. Person to person. Always kindness, Coyote [the narrator].”
Coyote imparted so many bits of wisdom in this story, but this one seemed so right for our time and our world. We need softer talk. More eye-to-eye contact. More person to person conversations.
Maybe tonight I’ll have a do-over in dreamland. Maybe tonight I’ll channel the wisdom of a 12-year-old and in that world behind my eyelids, I’ll try to talk into his eyes.