A blessing for existing
in a burning world
Here we are 13 days into a new year, and things aren’t getting easier just because it’s now 2025. The calendar turned over, but the challenges that come with being alive on planet earth right now didn’t dissolve when our 2024 calendars went into the recycling bin. War and genocide continues, fire and flood takes turns to see who can do the most damage, and uncertainty remains the undercurrent of the times. Firefighters continue battling flames that have already taken whole neighborhoods in LA1, and the US presidential inauguration is one week from today. As Bob Dylan wrote, “The times they are a-changin’.”
World on Fire
My backyard
isn't burning, but
yours over there is
which is my call
to bear witness
to the unthinkable.
I can't know
what it's like, not really,
to be in your body
on that savanna or in those streets
seeing those images
knowing they are so close
to home,
knowing they are
your home.
Feeling the heat.
Fleeing the fires.
Freeing what you can.
Leaving what you can't.
I can't know
what it's like,
but I can be sure
not to look away.
I can be sure
to listen.
I can be sure
to act.
A global community
calls for all hands
on deck.
There’s a lot of lament, sadness, anger, and anxiety about what’s currently happening and what could be coming next. Many fear unwanted change and/or the absence of needed change—that can leave one feeling adrift in grief. And grief can’t be rushed—walking the path of healing, especially when the thing one needs to heal from is still happening, takes as long as it takes. In my experience, trying to uncover the lessons or silver linings the moments just after a big loss (or during in the case of chronic stress/loss) isn’t especially helpful (especially when someone else is encouraging you to find those things and you need more time to feel what you feel). As Ann Lamott writes, “It can be healthy to hate what life has given you, and to insist on being a big mess for a while. This takes great courage. But then, at some point, the better of two choices is to get back up on your feet and live again.”
The Wildest Kind of Love
Maybe you're lost
far from home
unsure if home even exists
afraid that home is no longer there.
Many are disoriented.
Routes are long and hard.
Uncertainty abounds.
What felt stable and safe can vanish
in a blink of an eye
as a stiff wind gusts from the west
in a year that is already
beating you down.
Sorrow and fear are real
in a year like this.
Anxiety and anger are real
in a year like this.
It's normal to long to return
to what feels like home
especially when what you knew as home
might not be where you left it.
It's not easy to remember home
is with you always—a wildness
etched in your bones,
coursing through your veins,
an ancient agreement of shadow and light
a raw embodiment of love
capable of weathering
any firestorm.
But it is.
Even in a year like this.
No one wants to see their dreams go up in flames and every dream is a blaze. Communities in Appalachia and Los Angeles have suffered huge losses and have life in them still. Devastation and violence is real and life-giving possibilities arrive and grow with every new breath taken. Darkness can feel like it’ll swallow you up and light can find a way, despite everything.
Poet Maggie Smith wrote, “Yes, there’s darkness—in this world and in your one, small life—but there is also light streaming in from many directions. Some is coming from so far off, it hasn’t reached you yet. Turn your face to it as often as you can. No darkness deserves your full attention.”
Whatever you are facing today, whether it be anxiety to a life-altering decision to a problem that just seems too big to navigate, know this: You can do this hard thing.
It might not work out exactly how you want it to (most things don't), but the definition of impossible is being re-written all the time. Even if it feels really dark, the light is on its way.
It might take awhile to navigate what’s going on. It may be messy or painful or confusing. But maybe it's not impossible—maybe it'll just take a little more time.2
A Blessing for Existing in a Burning World
Maybe it all vanished
so abruptly it felt like there was nothing
but shock to take with you
on the unwanted journey ahead.
Maybe what came next has felt
full of firmly closed doors
or doors that open just enough
to allow a glimpse of what could have been.
Maybe those doors
are connected by paths
lined with thorns created
by the pairing of fear and desire.
Maybe (likely)
you’re tired and
ready for something,
anything to be different.
At any rate, despite
what has or hasn’t happened
in the weeks between
before and now–
May the journey ahead
become yours, even if the origin wasn’t.
May the journey ahead be full of doors
that open toward knowing your worth.
May the journey ahead connect you to the joy
created by existing in community.
May the journey ahead find you bearing witness
to the beauty that’s still present even in a burning world.
Heidi Barr lives and writes on Dakota Land in rural Minnesota. Her next poetry collection, Church of Shadow and Light, is forthcoming from Wayfarer Books in April 2025.
Carrie Newcomer wrote a song that includes this line.
What a wonderful line: "Even if it feels really dark, the light is on its way." I'm going to hold onto that today.