While I’d love to explore the history of how this powerful word became diluted, that isn’t why I’m writing today. I’m writing because once I discovered that the true meaning of hope is a vow and a commitment to life itself, everything changed for me.

 

By Rev. Indira Huerta

I confess.

For the past decade or so, my belief that humanity stands a chance of ever becoming the compassionate, empathetic world we have the potential to be has bounced somewhere between “meh” and “completely lost.” The blatant racism, xenophobia, religious persecution, environmental assaults and political and governmental disregard for life—all life, including the accused, the poor, the marginalized, the elderly, as well as nature and our planet—have taken their toll on my heart and mind.

We’re living in a state of anomie, and that’s a hard thing to witness, let alone actively live through.

In the last eleven months, this feeling of hopelessness became so palpable that I was almost paralyzed by it. A few months ago, I decided I could not live this way any longer. Late one night, while enduring another bout of insomnia, I logged onto ChatGPT and researched the concept of “hope.”

What I found changed everything for me.

The word “hope” was once powerful, but over the decades it’s been diluted—reduced to mere wishful thinking. It’s become a wishy-washy statement that conjures visions of people crossing their fingers as they say, “I hope you feel better soon,” or “I hope you get what you want for Christmas.” But would it surprise you to know that once upon a time hope meant “the fierce commitment to life’s continuance; a vow to act toward the possible?”

Before institutional religion centralized access to the sacred, before industrial capitalism caused words that once held value to lose their currency, before patriarchal and colonial systems redefined intuitive knowing—hope was a power word. The fierce commitment to life’s continuance. This means to be hopeful is to be intensely dedicated to the carrying on of growth, reproduction, functional activity and continual change that happens moment by moment, day by day, until death. A vow to act toward the possible.

In other words, it’s a promise to take action in the direction of something feasible and achievable.

Let that sink in for a minute. Hope isn’t a willy-nilly statement about wanting something to happen and leaving it to chance. Hope is dedication to life; hope is a vow to do something absolutely achievable.

While I’d love to explore the history of how this powerful word became diluted, that isn’t why I’m writing today.

I’m writing because once I discovered that the true meaning of hope is a vow and a commitment to life itself, everything changed for me. It changed because I realized that hope was the quiet force driving me out of bed to do the work that is mine to do; because I understood that committing to life means creating the things I want to exist in this world.

I want deep feelings and powerful experiences to fill this world. I want poetry, music, dance, pottery, paintings and equality to shape our days. I want there to be caterpillars and butterflies, ladybugs and roly-polies, acceptance and celebration of each and every living being.

I want hugs and hands that are held, and tears through laughter—and laughter through tears—when life begins, when it ends, and in between. I want there to be free food, kindness, self-love, and self-care. I want apologies with behavior change and acknowledgment when we’ve done something wrong. I want afternoon naps, walks in the forest, an end to poverty, war, the patriarchy and division.

I want yes’s to the things that nourish our hearts and souls, and no’s to those that drain the life from us. I want restitution for those we’ve wronged. And I want there to be peach pies and sourdough bread, homemade jams and jellies, and real justice—not punishment born from the fact that we don’t know what else to do.

I don’t want to live in a diluted world with diluted words and diluted actions.

Ever since the day I learned what real hope means, I’ve strived to create the things I want to exist in this world. Some days I only get a few lines of bad poetry written before I have to take my peach pie out of the oven. Other days, as I hold the hand of someone going through a loss, I find myself laughing through the tears. These things are not pipe dreams. Every single thing that I want to exist does—simply because I create it.

By understanding hope and committing to life, committing to creating life every day, I’m no longer seeing what’s missing; I’m seeing what’s already here through my presence and my focus.

It’s funny how a single shift in perspective can change the entire world. And when I have those moments of doubt—those flashes of anger at the state of things—I let myself feel them, then I remind myself of what the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once taught us: “Those who love peace must learn to organize as effectively as those who love war.”

Then I return to my daily practice—doing one small thing that reaffirms my commitment to this life.

 

The Tattooed Buddha is looking for articles on Hope for the month of November. Would you like to be a part of it? Send us your words to: editor@thetattooedbuddha.com. See submission guidelines here.

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

Did you like this post? You may also like:

Getting Acquainted with the 6 Perfections: Deep Hope {Book Review}

Finding Hope in the Most Unlikely of Places.

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Rev. Indira Huerta
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