Greetings Beat lovers! It is always an honor to share the love through the pages of this amazingly one of a kind publication of writing and art from the inside and beyond, which we know and cherish as The Beat Within. We hope you all reading this are doing well? We hope you are taking the necessary precautions to staying healthy and safe? You can count on us to do our part. It is hard to believe it has been nearly six months since we were ordered to wear a mask and shelter in place. The time is truly flying by, though at times it does feel like groundhog day, since we are pretty much doing everything from our homes and through our telephones and most definitely our computers.
We would like to dedicate this issue to all of us reading this editorial note! This issue goes out to all of us, including our friends and family, who are working very hard to stay strong and healthy and safe during these times of uncertainty.
We are touched by your efforts to write during our workshops and outside of our workshops. We are always impressed with what you all deliver. We also want to thank you writers who independently take it upon yourself to write and mail in your work to us. We certainly appreciate all you give. When published, please be on the look-out for our magazines that we send you! This week we are thrilled and honored to have our long-time colleague and friend, Simone share some words of love and support with us all!
Hello everyone, Simone here, editor and facilitator of The Beat, writing to you from Los Angeles, CA. I’m writing today to put my heart and healing thoughts out to the people currently impacted by the wildfires in Northern California – particularly in the Bay Area – the place I call home. At the time of my writing this, seven people have lost their lives to these 625 lightning fires, and at least 1,200 homes and buildings have been destroyed since last week.
I didn’t learn about these fires from the news. I heard about them from my grandparents, who live in the East foothills of San Jose, CA. An evacuation notice had been issued for their neighborhood, and they called me to ask if there was anything I wanted them to grab from my childhood bedroom before they headed to the nearest evacuation center. My mind went blank. My heartbeat filled my ears. They were two miles from the fire’s edge.
The only thing I could think of was my mother’s wedding dress. I debated jumping into my car and driving the five hours from LA to San Jose to be with them. Would I get stuck in traffic or road closures as I neared the Bay? Would I make it to the house before it was consumed by the fire? What would I say goodbye to? My grandparents were calm, and assured me that they were prepared to let go of the material life they spent 35 years building in San Jose.
After I got off the phone, I told my roommates about what was going on and thought out loud about what to do. “Tell them to come here!” one of my roommates said. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind – surely my grandparents wouldn’t make the long trek down to Los Angeles to stay in a house full of 20-somethings. “At least offer our place to them. Even if they don’t take you up on the offer, let them know they can come here.” My roommate was right. I texted my grandpa and told him we’d be happy to host them in LA for as long as they needed. He politely declined.
Wary of the crowds at the evacuation centers and the potential exposure to COVID-19, my grandparents opted to spend that night in their car in the Safeway parking lot down the street from our house, waiting for word that it was safe to return home.
The next day I called for an update. The fire was moving away from the East foothills and they were settling back into our house, though their car stayed packed. My grandma was in tears when she answered the phone. In the few chaotic days that the fires were growing and approaching their home, not a single person nearby had called to check in on them. Not their kids, not our extended family, not their friends. In that moment, my grandma felt totally alone. She thanked me again and again for offering my place in LA to her and my grandpa, and that of course they weren’t going to drive all that way, but it was the thought that counts.
I was crushed by this, feeling angry and let down by our community, the people closest to us, the ones I depend on for collective care and share the responsibility of keeping an eye on my grandparents. In our most urgent times of need, who can we rely on to be there for us? And who do we also show up for, no matter the circumstance? If you know who your people are, let them know how much they matter to you. Even if you’re having conflict with a loved one, make sure that person knows how much they are loved. We cannot thrive, cannot survive without each other. When our houses, our neighborhoods, our cities are threatened by disaster, it is the care and commitment we have to each other that will sustain us.
Thank you, Simone for this thoughtful perspective. We are happy to read that your grandparents are safe and back at home! If you don’t mind us saying this, you are a wonderful thoughtful granddaughter! We already know this through our years of working with you, that your heart is always in the right place and it is such an honor to know and work with you. Thank you, friend!
We hope our readers pick up some wisdom from the truths you share. As always, we hope you will find time to write us and share your wisdom and art with our community. Your voice, your words, are more important now than ever before.
As we go to print more senseless violence is erupting in another city in our divided nation. Incredibly sad and tragic. Justice for Jacob Blake! BLACK LIVES MATTER.