Sara’s Couch

Read this post on Sara’s Substack. For more of Sara’s work check out her website, Instagram, and music on all streaming platforms. To support her work, here’s her Buy Me a Coffee link.

What the World Needs Now

I study the words of

and pray to a person who

plumbed the depths of human suffering

who came on the other side intact — maintaining

a piercing perception of

the terror

the insanity

the desperation to be loved

pulling the strings of humanity’s clenched fist

suspending and releasing

suspending and releasing

blood spilling red

blood drying brown

on our noses

on our fists

whose blood is this?

Indestinguishable

I study the words of

and pray to a person who

embodies the consequences of

humans forsaking their humanity

— the sacredness of their very being—

by denying the sacredness of another’s

I study the words of

and pray to a person who

peers into our throbbing souls

and cries

Forgive them, for they know not what they do

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Read this post on Sara’s Substack. For more of Sara’s work check out her website, Instagram, and music on all streaming platforms. To support her work, here’s her Buy Me a Coffee link.

Artwork: Reunion-Mujer Sentada by David Alfado Siqueiros

-------------------

My life was and is a clash of worlds. When I was younger, it was a normal week to have roast beef and carrots at Grandma’s trailer, rice and beans in our apartment, buttered bread dipped in coffee (at the age of 7) on a plastic-covered table at my abuela’s house, and curry with roti on the bright blue kid’s table at my godparents’ house. About this I have zero complaints.

Being as hungry for understanding the world then as I am now, you can imagine I heard quite the range of philosophies while eavesdropping on adult conversations. The origin stories of the people I loved displayed a vast range of mindsets, pursuits, beliefs, and outcomes. Piecing together their stories helped me to make sense of them, the world, and myself. One question that gnawed at me was: why was life so difficult for some and much freer for others?

In the book Generous Justice, Tim Keller patiently introduces a much-needed shock to our meritocratic system by leveling the imagined superiority that often blinds us. In the book, Keller explains how the foundation of our lives has not been earned by us based on simple factors: we do not earn the parents who conceive us, the city/province or country in which we are born, nor the financial situation of our upbringing. Although he certainly was not the first to have this idea, it was the first time I had heard it stated so clearly.

Upon reading it, I felt a sense of relief I did not know I needed. A new world opened up for me, allowing me to channel the energy I traditionally reserve for judging others into the energy needed to be generous with my unearned resources.

When looking closely, it is easy to find that two people can be equally diligent, hardworking, and resilient but end up in drastically different circumstances. Sometimes, even the hardest workers end up with the lowest return.

Yes, there is an element of life to which reaping what we sow applies, but this framework quickly crumbles when we consider the abused child. Have they sown the violence their life reaps? Certainly not. Consider your own life with its beauty and suffering, and it will be easy to find that at least some of your security, wealth, and health— or lack thereof— may be equally unearned.

Before I press into how my heart is deeply grieved by us missing each other, let me speak to realities that you, reader, may be facing. Friend, you did not earn your spouse cheating on you. Daughter, you did not earn being unconditionally loved by your parents. Do you see the far reaches of this reality? For those of us “on top” let this humble us. For those of us “on the bottom” let this keep us from self-loathing.

As a culture, we have inherited and cultivated the belief that every man and woman has the opportunity, and even the mandate, to lift themselves up by their own bootstraps. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. poignantly stated, “It is a cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself up by his own bootstraps.”

My invitation is for us to consider the reality of our largely unearned status in this world. Do we believe the woman cleaning up after the mess of humanity in our hotels is not hard-working? What about the men and women picking our fruits and vegetables? The construction worker paving our roads? The cooks at our restaurants? If it feels like I’m highlighting a particular group of people, it’s because I am.

As I write this, ICE is invading the town where I live. A witness who works in a facility that is occupied by their crews, unmarked cars, and buses is haunted by the ringing of migrants’ confiscated phones—family members frantically looking for them. Many have been arrested while working—while working for us.

The truth is, as with most Americans, I did not earn my citizenship. I was born with it. I have loved ones who have earned their citizenship, but they will tell you it takes much money, support, and what seems to be chance working in one’s favor.

I struggle to understand some members of a “lift yourself up by your own bootstraps” nation degrading men and women who do that very thing— braving impossible conditions in order to get to a country where they can work to feed their families. I can sympathize with those who want people to earn their citizenship through legal means. Yes, that is the ideal and even preferred by most immigrants. The reality is that is an opportunity most are not afforded. For those unaware of the process, I encourage you to get to know people from other countries so that you can understand just how precarious it can be.

Since ICE has been on the move, I have felt helpless knowing what is happening to my neighbors across the country. A week ago, this reality started affecting my neighbors on the roads I take driving my kids to school. I have friends whose family members are in “Alligator Alcatraz”. Local non-profit workers are sharing that parents are not going to the grocery store for fear of being lost forever to their families with no rights to protect them from abuses of power. Teachers are heartbroken over the fear that keeps their students awake at night as they pray God protects them from their home being broken into by armed and unaccountable men.

It feels meager and woefully powerless, but maybe the most I can do today is appeal to our shared unworthiness of the lives bestowed on us and ask us to let that inform our love for each other, our view of ourselves, and the use of our resources for the sake of others.

Extras

Field Trip Idea

Get to know a local non-profit that you’re curious about. Call them and ask for a tour. See if there’s a way you can join the cause.

Natalia Lafourcade’s Tiny Desk Concert

Thanks for being here <3

Until next time…

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Read this post on Sara’s Substack. For more of Sara’s work check out her website, Instagram, and music on all streaming platforms. To support her work, here’s her Buy Me a Coffee link.

Spiraling and Its Alternatives

I’m trying to understand

how we’re not all in awe of each other

Galaxies expand and contract within us

Aiming at each other’s constellations

we sling our daggers

Don’t we know

there’s no ground in our souls

to sustain such blows of

contempt nor the footsteps

of blundering giants

—physical, digital, or otherwise?

Hatred is a shadow

Curiosity, wonder, eye contact—a light.

Extra: Fancy on a Budget Edition

How to make your car smell nice on the cheap

Step 1

Don’t have kids. jk. Collect these items:

* small jar, cup, or container

* paper coffee filter

* baking soda

* scent of your choosing (perfume, essential oils, etc.)

* rubber band

Step 2

* place a bit of baking soda in the container

* add your favorite scent (I keep a tiny bottle of oil in my car to refresh it when needed).

* place filter on the top

* secure it with a rubber band

Step 3

Place jar in your cup holder or center console. If it’s in your center console, remember to leave it open from time to time to set those sweet scents free.

Hello :) If we’ve not met, my name is Sara. One of the joys of my life is finding poetry in the people around me. Writing here is one way I get to do that. If you have thoughts, ideas, or poetry of your own that you’d like to share, don’t be shy! I love when you talk back.

Thanks for being here <3

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Read this post on Sara’s Substack. For more of Sara’s work check out her website, Instagram, and music on all streaming platforms. To support her work, here’s her Buy Me a Coffee link.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Read this post on Sara’s Substack. For more of Sara’s work check out her website, Instagram, and music on all streaming platforms. To support her work, here’s her Buy Me a Coffee link.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Find Sara's work at sarachase.net + on her Substack

To support her work by giving a tip: Buy Me a Coffee

Dear Reader,

Maybe I’m speaking too soon as I’m currently in my 30’s, but I feel happily resolute in aging naturally. While aging is not a choice, hiding the aesthetics of aging is something women have been attempting for some time now. We all know this. We have eyes. We see the medspas popping up like gas stations every 3 blocks.

In part, aging without aesthetic intervention is an act of resistance. Let my face be a protest! But that’s not the whole story. I am bent on embracing beauty in what culture deems unattractive. Watch me dance, bite into rich foods, flirt with poetry, hug my tías while my laugh-lines laugh at the world’s need for me to feel “less than”. There’s more beauty to be found in the wise and aging than actresses who have fewer wrinkles in their fifties than they did in their twenties.

So yes, I love a good stick-it-to-the-man statement. But it’s not about men. It’s about me daring to have joy as I am. So take that.

Will I love having new wrinkles while others my age opt for botox? Eh. Maybe yes. Maybe no. Am I willing to undergo elective treatments to “keep up”? Nope. This is not because I feel above such things. It’s more about differing priorities. My eyes and heart are set on other things. If all goes as I hope, my wrinkles will be a reflection of maturity, resilience, and confidence I embraced on my way to that particular age.

I have the luxury of being surrounded by women I love (my mother included) who have no interest in adjusting their faces. In a world where more and more are choosing another path, that’s been helpful to me. I’d feel great about being that for younger women—showing another option for aging.

Now, I will be dying my hair because that’s plain fun. Another excuse to express myself? Yes, please.

Sincerely,

The Woman with More Wrinkles in Her Future

Thanks for being here <3

Extras to check out:

Song: I Got Love by Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band

Poetry Book: The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Find and support Sara's work here: music, substack (blog), instagram, website, buy her a coffee

From Substack Post:

I was gifted a prayer rope that I know I am using incorrectly (if incorrect prayer is even possible). My understanding of its purpose is to set your heart and mind in a place to acknowledge God’s presence in real time. It’s not summoning God, or raising yourself to God. Rather, its purpose is to ease you into reality— to lull you out of the nightmare of materialism, scarcity, and isolation, and into understanding. All is more and lighter and deeper than it appears. God is here. God is mysterious. I am a child perpetually growing up, perpetually falling into God. Or something like that.

The prayer that has carried me in the last while has been about belonging in a cosmic sense. It’s led me to begin to feel I belong in an earthy sense. My eyes are opening to all the places, people, communities, and expressions in which I belong.

I’ll share some recent experiences of belonging:

* I belong in my mother’s smile as I share a new song with her

* I belong in my son’s hugs

* I belong in the prayers of fierce women around me

* I belong in my tía’s poems and my tío’s eyes as he tells a story

* I belong when I help a student write their first song

* My hands belong clutching beach sand

* My body belongs in the bed from which I type

* My joy belongs in meeting the author of a book that felt as necessary as soil

* My tears have belonged in my mind lately, as opposed to sliding down my cheeks

* I belong in the phone call of my friend checking on me

* I belong in shrimp and grits

* Can I say that again? I belong in shrimp and grits. (Thank you, primo Mykel).

Is there a place where you regularly have a feeling of belonging? The internet has provided us with more access to others’ feelings and perspectives, especially through memes. This can help us feel seen. There can be a sense of belonging in that. Deeper still, are there tactile places where you feel you belong? Is there a person whose arms open when they see you? Is there music that can carry your weight?

My encouragement is to take time to consider these. Appreciate them. Thank them. Strive to be that for another human who is doing their best to human.

Extras

Qobuz: a music streaming platform with high quality sound and a more ethical reimbursement structure for artists. Subscriptions start around $11 per month.

Something Holy song by Alice Phoebe Lou

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

Find and support Sara's work here: my music, substack, instagram, website, buy me a coffee

Don’t count on your warhorse to give you victory, for all its strength it cannot save you. — Psalm 33:17

What happens when all your defenses dissolve before your eyes—when they turn out to have the substance of holograms? How are you to proceed?

But first, a poem about monsters…

---------

One of the ways I proceed after my defenses have given way, is by reaching out to loving friends. On one such occasion I reached out to my sister, a woman who prays and hears from God, asking for encouragement. She was compelled not to tell me about my strengths, but instead to tell me of my need not to be anything — but to belong.

With that perspective, I was reminded of an acquaintance from over a decade ago who said to me, “You know those Scriptures where God calls people ‘beloved’? That’s my calling and purpose in life. My only job is to be loved.” She said this with eyes widening— her entire body seeming to be opened and steadied all at once. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her presence: her soft curls, her fingers open, and palms facing her God.

That’s the image I recall as my sister tells me of my need to know that I belong. There’s a scene where God describes himself as a mother hen shielding her baby chicks from harm. Covering her chicks, she takes the blows of life— be it predators, harsh weather, threats of every kind— upon herself. That’s where I am held. Any pains I feel are the secondary wounds that penetrate God first. Suffering has its limits when you are loved.

Have you found that to be true? I wrote about walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and not sitting in it. Today I reflect on it being merely the shadow of death, not death itself. Complete alienation from love is the epitome of death. Anything less can only be the shadow of it.

Here is where my belief that God is love has the greatest significance. I walk through the valley of the shadow of death receiving the world’s blows only through the wings of a God who calls me Beloved and assures me that I belong.

EXTRAS

a book: A Million Miles in a Thousand years by Donald Miller

a song: Tightrope by Jon Guerra

Thank you for being here <3

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

website: www.sarachase.net

blog: sarachase.substack.com

The Song I Always Needed

One day I'll write the

song I need

for such a time as this

The kind that binds

my soul as one

from hopeless scattered bits

One day I'll have the words

One day I'll have the rhymes

to hum in the dark

to summon the light

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe

For more of my poetry & music: linktree + instagram + substack

_____________________

JOY

Grief in memories

joy in today's arrival

A day I could not have known

was making its way

toward me

longingly

throbbing with anticipation

bursting through its seems

How unceremoniously

Joy opened the front door entered my room

kneeled beside my bed

lulled me out of my fitful sleep talking

dream shocking the

horror right out of me

I’ve been dying to meet you

Joy said

walking me to the window sill

She handed me a mug

and as a waterfall filled it up

with herself

take two sips so you can

build a tolerance

for this fire pouring down your throat

I live to make you come alive

Just wait 'til you see

what a little Joy inside

can do.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sarachase.substack.com/subscribe