Of the deeper thoughts I might give to this moment, I have given them elsewhere. For this blogpost, I just want to speak of feelings... feelings of hurt and hope.

I am reaching out, collecting the feelings of those I see around me, writing them in my mind's journal. Though I hold clear positions in this moment, there are few roots of feeling and emotion about the moment I feel I haven't steeped in myself at some time. Sometimes I tell this to friends, and they think maybe I am drifting from a mutual position, and this is painful for them. Perhaps they fear this could constitute or signal some kind of betrayal. I don't know what to say: I've been here too long to feel just one thing, even if I can commit to one position.

So I open my journal of feelings, and here I share some of the pages collecting the pain I see around me:

The irony of a movement wanting to be so logical and above feelings being drowned in them.

The feelings of those who found a comfortable and welcoming home in a world of loneliness, and the split between despondence and outrage for that unraveling.

The feelings of those who wanted to join that home too, but did not feel welcome.

The pent up feelings of those unheard for so long, uncorked and flowing.

The weight and shadow of a central person who seems to feel things so strongly but cannot, and does not care to learn to, understand the feelings of those around them.

I flip a few pages ahead. The pages are blank, and I interpret this as new chapters for us to write, together.

I hope we might re-discover the heart of our movement.

I hope we can find a place past the pain of the present, healing to build the future.

I hope we can build a new home, strong enough to serve us and keep us safe, but without the walls, moat, and throne of a fortress.

I hope we can be a movement that lives up to our claims: of justice, of freedom, of human rights, to bring these to everyone, especially those we haven't reached.