Somewhere at some time, hope became synonymous with weakness.
As though to have hope was something only the downtrodden with no future could have—were encouraged to have—the only protection between them and the devil’s doom.
If we live in a false hope that someday, some heavenly far away day, all will be sweet roses, harps, and songs, then we never pause. We never stop to look around at the beauty present in this moment.
Usually the peddlers of this type of weak and silly hope are televangelists, drug peddlers, and fashion advertisers. It is purchased with a hidden hog-tied despair of the present.
What if radical, revolutionary hope was viewed as honest, strong, and even powerful beyond measure?
What if radical hope was the only superhero quality that energized and empowered compassionate change?
Emily Dickinson lived a hermit life, alone by choice. To some, this may seem sad, antisocial, and weak. However, her writing was transcendent:
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.”
There was once a time I thought I would never walk without pain; trying to hike (my true love) and hobbling along, and unable to keep up with my family—my heart sank.
If only I had known then that my mind was malleable, my body could change, and that today, three years later and surviving a car accident, not only am I walking without pain, but I also get down on the floor and get back up. Look Ma, no hands!
Hope isn’t weak, it is what keeps us open to the malleable nature of life.
The only thing that can concretize is my mind, and if I breathe with compassion for where I am today, I can bring wings to my hope in the right now, not some unidentified heavenly future.
I may not do the yoga asana Scorpion pose from the ground, but I can do it with my yoga stand, and I feel powerful, hopeful, and joyful.
My new mindset of possibility allows me to be open to more hope and joy. I’ve stopped comparing myself to Instagram yoga models. I now rejoice my life today, and am grateful for all that is mine in this moment. I feel my muscles loosening, my breath evening, and my heart opening.
It is time for the quiet flowers, the square pegs, the young, lonely, old, stiff, and the other humans of the world to stand up and keep standing up—hollering hallelujahs of gratitude.
I open my eyes and see all around examples of these strong and faithful ones who stand with compassion, with ruthless and revolutionary loving hope. They stand with a persistence that refuses no; refuses shaming, belittlement, microaggressions, violence, and terror.
They are committed to not apologizing for being right, because we are just right as we are, in this moment.
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