[archive] Why I’m Choosing Honesty (instead of Hope)

"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice"

We evoke this sentiment a lot these days. When Black voting rights are blatantly eviscerated in Alabama. When transgender humans are bizarrely cast as… literal monsters? You know the rest of the list. In 1965 MLK Jr popularized the quote by 19th century abolitionist Theodore Parker - one era of struggle drawing hope from another.

This assumption has been a foundational motivator my whole life. Activists bring up this iconic quote for motivation when times are daunting, or for perspective when each day seems like the end of the world. The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.

But what if it doesn’t?

What if we don’t need to believe it, to have hope at all, in order to stay spiritually alive and ethically engaged?

Because the thing is, we don’t know if that arc will deliver us. That’s the truth. For some of us the precarity of the future presses right against our daily lives, not an anxious relic of ancestral trauma but an attuned nervous system responding to existential, systemic danger. We don’t know if we’re going to get through this. We don’t know if humanity will survive this at all.

Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you there, there’s an alternative to hope.

The alternative is Honesty. It’s being Right Here. It’s admitting again and again - “I don’t know.”

Take a breath. Say “I don’t know.” See what happens.

I just finished 7 weeks of Counting the Omer with over 30 of you (shout out to my incredible students, this year’s Omer practice was REMARKABLE.) In the Kabbalistic practice of Counting the Omer, the closing blessing thanks the Divine for “cleansing and clearing any debris that is in the way of the Light shining through.” Basically, Kabbalistically, we’re fancy tubes channeling life force energy, and it’s our jobs to be accountable to tube maintenence.

Every lie we tell - that’s debris in the way. Every time we conceal the truth to avoid discomfort - that’s debris. In Omer class one student shared how surprised they were when they shared something vulnerable that they’d been avoiding with their mother. It’s not just that their mom handled the news decently. It’s that in general, more love started flowing between them. That’s the spiritual strategy of truth-telling. A bit of dishonesty debris poisons our whole system. A bit of debris removal, ie truth-telling, brings soulful aliveness back to the entire system.

Today’s spiritual activism is asking us to be ruthlessly devoted to reality. It means being the person in the room willing to say “I’m don’t know.” It means offering the dignity of silence instead of offering the panacea of solutions.

Here’s the little trick though. To admit “I don’t know” goes both ways.

I don’t know if we’re going to get through this.

I also don’t know that we won’t.

As terrified as I am, as fucking fucked as this world feels right now, if I’m being honest So Help Me God - we just might survive. My cynicism is just as much a false grasp at control as my optimism.

When I work with clients in Seven Spiritual Direction, this is the leadership we’re developing. How do I discern if my entrenched beliefs are debris in the way of the Light shining through? How do I practice the courage to tolerate the unknowns of my life? I’m not confident that this is the spiritual training that was appropriate in 1853 when Theodore Parker first wrote about that long arc. But I’d bet on it for 2026 (with the caveat that i don’t really know).

[archive] too humble is half proud

There’s a Yiddish saying - Too Humble is Half Proud. Consider me full proud because it’s been a delight to discover just how fabulous Ensoulment Coaching is. 

“Thank you for a sweet clean and perfect shaped container for learning, being held, being seen, being guided, joyfully expressing and feeling into. It has profoundly helped me reconnect to the wisdom in my soul and I cannot wait to continue on with the work and be guided by Annie-Rose and all of her spirited teachings.” - Jackie, Client 

And Now, Meditations on the Season

Where I live it’s the dead of winter, and I do mean dead. The earth has frozen and thawed and frozen again, heaving up stones like loose teeth. It is not an easy time for hope. My dad was the most spiritual person I’ve known, and the most devoutly atheist. While the mere mention of “G~d” sent him into offended tirades, the mere whiff of a blossom sent him into a swoon. One of his favorite games was to look at old photographs from the turn of the century, pick one tiny figure from the crowd, and stare until he felt, with every fiber of his being, that that person had been ALIVE. “Every person has a life” he’d remind me, sometimes embarrassingly, on the subway, pointing at a stranger as evidence. To him it meant every person is a Universe. 

Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday, and it is also one week since Renee Nicole Good’s state-sanctioned murder, a national reckoning that has brought to light the 34 deaths due to I.C.E. since the beginning of 2025 including Keith Porter earlier this month. I have a practiced way of emotionally distancing myself from news, but this one pierced right through. A 30-something queer white activist like me, doing I.C.E. monitoring just like I do every Tuesday morning. 

My political training nagged me to interrogate why my heart softened now when I know there have been other, non-white non-citizen deaths before. Then my magic training swooped in to remind me - follow the energy. Help the power grow bigger, don’t tamp it down with shame. If this is the sacred path to my tears, so that I may remember how to Not Get Used To This, then follow that path and make the path wider.

In Jewish time we are approaching the month of Shevat, a deep winter month holding a deep contradiction. Its iconic holiday - Tu B’Shevat - celebrates the return to life. Tu B’Shevat, the new year of the trees, marks the season when sap begins to invisibly stir and rise.

So back to my papa’s stubbornly vibrant outlook. Oh refuser of a greater power, oh devout believer in All We Have Is Each Other. I think today he’d say — You are ALIVE. 

Then no more words. We’d be outside pressing our faces to the rough bark to feel the sap rising. The sap that is your tears, that is your signal threads and your neighbor lists. The sap that does not need you to have hope. It rises simply because it is ALIVE. Keep your face to the tree until you feel it, keep your fingers to your own pulse until you believe it. 

Happy birthday Dad. And big sappy love to each of you reading this. 

[Archive] Slow Down To Catch Up

Scene I.

My client’s hand was inching along her chest, tapping on her heart like she was testing for ripeness. Minutes ago she had been a storm of competing truths (so much feels like a storm these days). But now the winds were calm, her focus spacious and forgiving as her hand improvised on my screen. This was an ensoulment session, and my client was kicking ass. Slowly.

Last newsletter I announced that my books were open for 1:1 spiritual accompaniment work. Now I get to sit with very cool people and help them be the love warriors they know they are, with more of their own soul’s wisdom on board to steer the way through mystifying transitions in a world on fire. Very cool! Very cool that this is a practical skillset that is learnable, common, and abundant, not ephemerally bestowed on a privileged few! Very shitty that the systems of control and oppression have forced so much soul wisdom underground because it’s a direct threat to empire!

So, my client. She had been practicing a “hand dance” with the prompt “how do I feel soul.” Hand dances come from the lineage of InterPlay and are one of many ways to tap into body wisdom. Unexpected and marrow-deep insights tend to come from hand dances. “When I started, I was in my head, and my hand was rushing around. When I slowed my hand - there was soul! Once I had synced to the pace of my soul, my movement could speed up again and stay synced.” How absurdly simple. As I listened to my client’s reflections, a phrase popped out of my mouth that would become my own personal intention for this autumn season.

Slow Down to Catch Up.

Scene II.

The Art for Social Change Jam was coming to a close. This gathering of artists across a kaleidoscope of mediums and identities had been in the works for 3 years, thwarted by many pandemic/crisis-related events. If a hand dance helps tap into personal insight, a Jam helps tap into collective insight. We find again and again that the pain and shame of one participant reveals a truth rippling throughout the entire group. Often this truth casts light on the internalized frontlines of the battle against all oppression. And so we dance between the personal and the systemic, casting ourselves as research subjects for how we get free.

The themes that emerged, dear reader, were thus:

• I’m sensitive as hell. Is that ok in a world on fire?

• I need to move slowly in order to make my work. Is that ok in a world on fire?

• I haven’t made art in years because the systemic, economic, and urgent conditions have pushed it to the background. Am I still an artist?

Slow Down to Catch Up.

Pace mismatches become particularly apparent when working with groups. Ever go on a group vacation? You know what I mean. So perhaps it’s no surprise that pacing became a central tension at the Jam. Not just between participants, but between participants and the World. The incessant urgency of our times is rendering creativity malnourished, the very skill we need most to solve our urgent problems. The Jam offered a temporary but real slow-down, enough time to catch a breath, sync back up (back down?) to the speed of the soul, and let that renewed soul guidance lead. In Meg Wheatley’s words, an island of sanity.

Scene III.

Kazu Haga has been a nonviolence practitioner for over 20 years, and I can’t stop quoting him. In a recent training on revolutionary nonviolence, Kazu unapologetically challenged the status quo of social change. In my own summary, he said:

• The way we do protests aren’t transformative and aren’t working.

• The only questions worth asking have no answers. We need to be asking bigger questions.

• Our strategies need to match the scale of the situation, which is full-out crisis.

• Which is why we need to slow down.

Kazu sometimes repeats an axiom from an unlikely source - the military. Far be it from me to be picky about whose good ideas I steal. Here’s the axiom:

“Slow is Smooth. And Smooth is Fast.”

In other words, we simply can’t afford to move fast. “Fast” sacrifices base-building for quick wins. “Fast” trades relationships for the aesthetics of an action. (shout-out the hundreds of thousands of hours of grassroots organizing that propelled NYC’s mayor-elect into office. MAMDANI WON Y’ALL!!!!).

“Slow down to catch up” is about committing to the present moment as the only real site of impact. Letting that lil stressed out panic brain take the proverbial back seat and stop trying to do a big kid’s job. And it feels counterintuitive as hell.

Back to Scene I.

It’s mid-autumn. In the Jewish calendar we’ve just entered the month of Cheshvan, an entire month associated with slowing down. I always learned this was to make room for digesting the intensity of the High Holy Day season that precedes it, but lately I’ve been thinking of Cheshvan as making space to receive the miracles associated with the month to follow - Kislev, aka Chanukah month.

Me and my beloved client are wrapping up. In the weeks to come she’ll continue playing with pace, experimenting on her walks to the subway and conversations with friends. So will I. I’ll walk the dogs without my phone in my hand. I’ll drop all my plans to have an unexpected repair conversation with a family member. When the conversation goes long, I’ll give it time. And when I spiral about not doing enough to fight fascism, I’ll remember to pace myself and just show up for the next local I.C.E. defense meeting.

The most honest thing for me to say about what to do in these times is:  “I don’t know.”

Followed closely by:  “organize, organize, organize.”

And third, not to be forgotten, is:  “slow down, so that you may catch up.”

[Archive] Spiritual Vocation: A Coming Out

Welcome if you’re new here! Good to see you if you’re old here! unsubscribe anytime whoever you are! It’s been 5 years since my last newsletter, there’s goodies and a coming out to share, but first an update from yours truly:

• I moved to rural New York with my beloved partner Luke. We have two chihuahuas now.

• I took a break from consulting to spend 3 years facilitating the world’s most influential organizations with LifeLabs Learning.

• I had the Earth drop out from under my feet in 2023, when my father passed away unexpectedly.

This initiation of loss has been the hardest experience of my life. I’ve spent the past two years largely cocooned with that great teacher, Death. And now I find myself re-emerging from the underworld, bearing gifts from the grief that I unequivocally cherish.

So, my coming out: I’m stepping into full-time spiritual vocation, and am pursuing rabbinic ordination.

Why is it that claiming spiritual vocation can feel like coming out? Maybe because, like queer coming out, a lot of you may roll your eyes and say “no duh, we already knew that about you.” Maybe it’s the shame. In a culture overwhelmed with materialism, shame says that matters of the spirit are fake at best, self-indulgent bullshit at worst. But shame is a map. Shame reveals an outpost of the enemy, identifying beliefs that do the hard work of oppression from the inside. In the urgency of unabated genocide and global authoritarianism, shame might say to drop our soul-tending practices and RUN.

Sweet darlings, you and I know that the human soul is at the frontline of the battle against rising fascism. Resisting more colorfully, more freakily, more unapologetically is strategic in this fight. I consider this one of my responsibilities as a love warrior in our times. I must be accountable to my own spiritual aliveness, so that I may have all of me with me in the struggle for justice. Not to be happy, not to be in a good mood, but for aliveness of the soul itself. Daunting, considering how damn depressing this all is, but that’s why we’re not meant to do it alone.

Spirit, soul, creativity, all that good stuff, aren’t breezes that we either catch or don’t. The professionalization of the arts and religion loooooves that myth. In this political environment, we can’t wait for those ephemeral breezes. Good news: there are countless wisdom maps that provide accessible, actionable pathways to beef up our soul muscles. Soul-tending, a term I learned from my beloved Rabbi Lynn Gottlieb, is a birthright that threatens empire (if you do it right). That’s why I’m a lifelong student of soul-tending, sitting at the feet of my own ancestral Jewish mystic clown lineages, as well body-wise forms like Cynthia Winton-Henry’s Art of Ensoulment. I may still be an organizational psychology nerd, but honey we got some soul work to do! So I’ve been thinking about what soul-support our people need and cooking up ways I can help.

The goodies: I’ve got a 1:1 spiritual accompaniment program, Seven, for those seeking the intimacy and accountability of a one on one relationship. In Seven we do big soul-tending, and make sure you get the spiritual growth you deserve from whatever endings and beginnings life is currently serving. Me and my long-time co-conspirator Elana June have two deeply queer, deeply Palestine-loving Jewish study offerings for the Hebrew year 5786. And to all my creatives - The Arts for Social Change Jam is BACK and promises to be a timely, immersive sanctuary to feed our radical artist hearts.

If you’re so moved, write back to me. Tell me how you’re doing. This newsletter started almost 10 years ago and we’ve all been through a lot. I’m grateful to be connected to you amidst it all. Thanks for being someone I want to come out to.

With love,

Annie-Rose

[Archive] Hurting Those I Love, Or How I Lost (and found) My Dog - September 2019

Hey Dear Humans,

A few weeks ago I lost and found my (partner's... technically) dog. She had tried to follow me when I left, and she ended up getting hit by a car (don't worry, she's a miracle baby and is fine). Have you ever loved something tremendously, breath-takingly, and also been responsible for it's safety and wellness? Has that thing (thing = child, pet, team, organization, etc) ever been hurt while under your care? Can you believe how much that sucks?!?!?

If you are a parent this is probably all too familiar. In those initial days of unknown, when my dear Toni Barxton (the dog) was missing, something deepened in my soul. The two truths that:

   #1   I adore this animal and that
   #2   I will cause it harm

are irreconcilable. In fact this applies to ALL of the things most precious to me. With the intimacy of love comes the responsibility of impact. And it's only a matter of time until I, oh fallible being in a complex world, will fail at keeping everything I love 100% safe. Whether it's a non-profit that I'm directing or a friendship that I'm building, or perhaps most unequivocally - my own life.

So how does one go on? How does a heart stay open and tender and willing? There are many pathways, but I believe all of them involve getting a little more comfortable with the human condition. The tension of love and impact isn't an aberration that holy and healed heroes manage to avoid. It is the very nature of the thing itself. We are all out here, doing our best, achingly deserving of love and embedded with the capacity to give love. And we will all slip up.

At the end Toni - limping, skinny and ragged - came back to us. The love that drove her after my departing car four day's earlier is the same love that brought her home. Ready to lap up all the love that I was more than ready to give her.Here's to 100% Liberation Throughout Space and Time,

Annie-Rose
 

[Archive] Race Reflections While Visiting Where The Other Boat Landed - January 2019

Hi hi,

I am writing to you from a café in Buenos Aires, Argentina. 

I am here meeting family that traces back to the same little shtetl (village) of Zembin where our people lived for several centuries. My family is ashkenazi Jewish on both sides, and when my dad's mother's side of the family escaped Belarus around the turn of the last century, most of them came to New York City, some went to South Africa and some went to Argentina. We've been in our respective diasporas for over a hundred years now. We speak different languages, and being Jewish means different things to us. This encounter with my family's Jewishness in an Argentine context is makes me want to talk to you about White Supremacy, so let's talk!  Specifically, about the tension of trying to not employ white supremacy thinking to dismantle white supremacy. 

On one hand - as a white jew, I must understand my white skin privilege and identify as white so that the aspects of me that have assimilated into white culture are not taken as neutral. I cannot explain my life and my experiences without claiming both my experience as a Jew AND as a white person in the United States. And if I do not claim my whiteness then I cannot authentically speak to and organize other white people against racism.

On the OTHER hand - the important anti-racist work of deconstructing the entire notion of whiteness, a categorical construct unmapped to any genetic racial truth. Part of de-centering whiteness and creating authentic multi-racial relationships involves white people moving past "white neutrality" and investigating their own cultural heritages. The cultural poverty of whiteness and its placelessness generates the hunger to consume and abuse other cultures. White supremacy created the construct of whiteness, so to dismantle white supremacy we must deconstruct whiteness. 

So, how to do both? and how does that look here in Argentina, where I have family in a different racial context, drawing light to how provisional the coincidence of my birth is in the racial context of the United States?

I am shpieling on about this not just to explore my own specific racial situation, which I'm also doing, btw. I think that this creative tension, of identifying with a group and dismantling the constructs of separateness AT THE SAME TIME, is divine.

From a spiritual perspective I believe that the only things worth adoring involve at least some level of paradox. Paradox and seemingly irreconcilable truths generate a space of mystery and surrender, where our logical brains have to let go and our hearts and sheer yearning take up the slack. There is Spirit living in the messiness of life. This is why if you're looking for a spiritual journey, I highly recommend putting your whole heart in social justice, it will wooooorrrrrk you and humble you and gratify your soul. The tension is where we begin, not where we turn away.

How many other irreconcilable truths do you wish to hold together?

• That you can love someone and need to have a boundary with them?

• That you are proud and confident AF and deeply insecure?

• That you need to leave but you're not ready to go?

I come bearing no solutions. You're welcome. May 2019 be a year generous enough to hold all of your paradoxes, all of your deepest hearts' longings for justice, all your identities and all the joy you didn't even know you were allowed to have.

For 100% Liberation Throughout Space and Time,

Annie-Rose