Medicine from Palestine

On this long dark night of the Winter Solstice, I pray that we awaken to the light.

I tiptoe past our living room where two dozen women are seated on the floor in silent prayer. A kind of quiet that carries its own music. The familiar rhythm of tinkling prayer beads, running noses, and heartfelt sighs. Sounds of hope, grief, and release.

It is important to bear witness to these moments of global social injustice. Feeling the grief, anger, and frustration of the collective, we see more clearly what parts of our humanity need tending to.

AI bends the arc of progress into a much steeper curve. An accelerated a/descent to our collective futurist imagination.

On Friday, LILI JADE turned 1 and I turned 32. An exhausting and exhilarating rotation. Here are a few things on my mind as I celebrate this milestone.

Disconnection lies at the root of most of our imbalances. We’re disconnected from nature, from our bodies, from the quiet voice within that has more wisdom than we can even begin to imagine. But above all else, we’re increasingly disconnected from community.

Lili Jade is my opportunity to honor my ancestry by carrying forward the traditions, community roles, and principles my family has upheld for centuries.

These last few weeks have been grueling for Iranians across the diaspora. Every day we are cloaked in feelings of grief, guilt, rage, and paranoia.

Anger is not an emotion I feel comfortable with. I’m afraid of a fire that runs that hot—that has the potential to be destructive and vicious.