“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tune without the words – and never stops at all.”

– Emily Dickinson

Four days of wonder, filled with hope that words would land, that critique would further, that conversations would cement friendships and understanding. Four days in commune with Writing by Writers Manuscript Book Camp tucked away in the canyons of Sundance, Utah. Four days before the election when hope and possibility shimmered from coast to coast.

Or so we thought. A change order. A continuation of civility in the highest elected official in our country. A woman with a sensibility blended with a background of backbone to guide our light in a world of conflict and confusion. Or so we thought.

We were not prepared for the power of a disinformation machine. We were not prepared for the hate of ‘otherness’ to control the discourse. We were not prepared for the twisting and distortion of facts presented glibly as truth. We were not prepared for hatred, division and misogyny to supersede tolerance, inclusivity and equality. We were not prepared for loss.

We had dreams of enshrining the rights of our daughters and granddaughters to make their own decisions about their body. We had dreams of expanded protections for our one home, this planet, we call her Earth. We had dreams of continuing clean air and water legislation, of protections for the disenfranchised, for the lifting up of those among us most vulnerable.

We were not, are not foolish, with our dreams. Those who created our path dreamed of freedom for all people, no matter the color of their skin, of equality and enfranchisement for women, of paths to citizenship for immigrants. Generations of imagineers have fueled America’s stature and growth on the world stage, and we have forever been seen a beacon of hope. Our Statue of Liberty, a symbol of freedom, proud words etched in her base, “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!.” Our dream continues to be a nation of equal opportunity, not subsumed to the dictates of the uber-wealthy.

And after the brain fog clears, after the gut-punch of the unexpected loss, we will climb out of our dark moment, put our feet on the ground and fight for what we believe to be right. We will not be silenced, we will not be squashed by a machine that strives to lessen our voices, reduce or eliminate our power. We recognize that we all do no think in the same way, but we firmly believe that our strength is in our ability to listen to one another and find common ground.

We will find our way to re-focus on the brightest light within us.