A Matter of Hope

Photo by Kai Pilger on Unsplash

I had a great conversation about hope today — about how we can keep it going even in the face of some pretty dark moments. I’ll be writing more about this, somewhere. But the tiny idea that is growing is the idea that we need to carry hope like a hospice worker who knows their patients won’t recover. Just let it show you where you can provide ease in the next moment. And the next one. And the one after that. One moment at a time.

If it feels like we are hospice workers for a civilization—

because we are—

The thing to do is alter the molecular structure

of hope.

Remove the spaces between atoms.

Compress matter into its densest, darkest form —

darker, even, than your thoughts at 3am on a Sunday.

Make hope a small, weighty thing.

A thing that can’t help but leave a mark

anywhere within its small reach.

So heavy it is that you can only carry it

(carefully, slowly)

into the very next moment.

Hope is the thing with density,

that lingers in the soul,

and follows on your next exhale,

and won’t be crushed

at all.