This Little Light of Ours

I’m no shrinking violet. Most who know me, or read my work, think me somewhat bold and outspoken. Not afraid of a showdown if I deem it a moral imperative. But I could not screw up enough courage to watch the recent presidential debate. The thought of watching that know-nothing misogynist harass the candidate President Obama considers “the most qualified person to ever seek the office” made my stomach turn over.

So at 9pm, after Hillary’s historic entrance, I took to my bed. Scared and nervous, filled with negative energy. There’s so much at stake in this election; I’m very emotionally involved. For distraction, I reached for the biography of Julia Ward Howe and snuggled in to read. (She wrote that catchy little song, The Battle Hymn of the Republic, although too few recognize her name.)

But there was no escaping the debate. Text messages started pouring in from friends filled with similar angst. Giving me a blow-by-blow of how Trump was steamrolling Hillary and hogging air time, yet the moderator wasn’t keeping him in check. With matching vitriol, I replied to each for a while and then decided that these pinging messages were equally bad for my mental health.

I recalled that my friend Ellen is trying to convert her abhorrence of Donald Trump to energetic support of Hillary Clinton. Admirable as that is, I’ve been so consumed by my own loathing of him that I’ve made no effort to follow suit. My Facebook page reflects my obsession with exposing him in order to defeat him; I can think of little else.

Yet seeking refuge in bed at 9pm forced me to re-think my reactions to this campaign. I decided to focus on what I want rather than on what I don’t want.

To center myself, I lit a candle. Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes and envisioned Hillary in her red suit surrounded by purifying white light. I began to send Reiki to her right there on stage. (I had enough confidence to hope it wouldn’t relax her so much that she’d appear “low energy.”) I sent her light and love, strength and wisdom. I whispered my intention that she be forthright and a force for peace. I asked that she be able to break through the barriers that prevent so many from fully embracing her candidacy. I even wished her more likeability, allowing myself to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of that sexist view.

When I was done, I rested my head on the pillow, calmer and more confident that all shall be well. My terror was gone.

Texts from friends kept coming, but their tone had changed. My correspondents were now reporting that Hillary was strong, really knew her stuff, got in a few zingers, and looked radiant.

When I knew for sure the debate was over, I crawled out from under the covers to watch the postmortem. Many analysts had detected a noticeable shift about forty minutes into the debate. While Trump had started out somewhat coherent, she’d seemed tentative. She then became “scorching,” according to the New York Times. And he melted down.

The timing of her gaining momentum perfectly correlated with the timing of my sending out positive energy.

I’m not claiming any credit for Hillary’s debate performance; that would be absurd. She’s worked hard for this moment and has the cred to whip his butt. But I do believe that the universe showed me that using energy to empower her is more productive than railing against a madman. (See? I haven’t fully reformed…) Perhaps my little ray of white light joined forces with light sent by others who believe in the power of intention. Those who are also tired of being scared, anxious, and angry. Perhaps our collective white light can be refracted as through a prism to generate an inclusive rainbow of color. If so, together we can be an impetus for tipping the scale toward a more civilized America.

If nothing else, my new commitment will help me survive the next month. I’ve been giving Donald Trump way too much of my energy; I’m taking it back to resend it to the only person right now who can save us from imminent self-destruction.