Dear Reader,

It’s Sunday, July 6, and I am following spirit’s nudge to write to you.

It’s been a hell of a weekend here in the U.S.

At a time when Americans normally celebrate independence and frolic in summer’s best weather, we are grappling with new realities and a lot of uncertainty.

The news in Northern California began to reflect the combustible energies in our populace last week as congress rushed to approve a big, ugly bill. Two separate and serious explosion incidents involving fireworks occurred, the first on July 1 and the other on July 3.

At the same time, small wildfires were cropping up seemingly everywhere. My phone buzzed with alerts and updates all day on the 4th.

By then, the big, brutal bill had passed, awaiting the president’s planned signing party.

There wasn’t much of a party in Sausalito. The fireworks were cancelled at the last minute. The traditional show, centered on fireworks launched from a barge in Richardson Bay, was not to be this year. Based in Oakland, the barge had taken on water and couldn’t make the trip across the water.

How bizarre.

Other towns had been forced to cancel fireworks shows because of warehouse explosions. But here, the element of water was the culprit, rather than an excess of fire energy.

By Saturday night, however, I could see a larger water story emerging in the horrific Texas floods.

In the consciousness of our country, water had overtaken the combative, combustive energies of our broken political machinery, replacing them with a flood of emotion.

I searched for meaning in all of this. I read articles on the Texas floods, expecting some theme to present itself, some lesson, some takeaway that would help me to make sense of tragedy.

One observer was quoted as saying that innocence was lost. Camp Mystic, a paradisial place where young girls were mentored and protected, was gone.

Maybe this was the theme that I was looking for. We can no longer claim to be a country of innocents. We can no longer celebrate the rebellion against the rule of an overbearing king while the democracy our forebears built in its place is being systematically dismantled. The party is over.

Underneath the fiery anger at injustices being carried out in our names is a deep well of grief for what we have lost. Although much of the American story is glorified mythology, there was still a foundation of written principles by which we attempted to govern the messiness of human existence.

Already singed at the edges, those principles have been torched with the signing into law of a massive, unchecked wealth transfer from the poorest to the richest. That it was signed on the 4^th only drives the point home: The mystical, magical land of justice and freedom is disappearing before our eyes.

Don’t get me started on what happens to young girls in the country that remains. Margaret Atwood has been telling us for years.

Where do we go from here? I don’t think anyone can say that they know for sure.

We see the best of humanity in times of crisis. The stories coming out of Texas bear witness to that truth.

Our country is in crisis. The events of July 4^th were tragedies. Both the metaphorical fire and the literal flood.

I’m looking for the helpers. And looking for ways to help.

I know that empowered women, who are fully aligned with their sacred work, have a role to play in times like this. You -- we -- are the ones who weave a web of truth, honor and compassion. We hold the light in times of great darkness.

This is your reminder to keep doing what you do. Keep walking the path, even if you can only see one steppingstone in front of you. Take that step in faith that the next will appear when needed.

I pray for the victims and families of those affected by the Texas floods. May they know peace and comfort in the days ahead.

With much love,

Maria

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