01/31/2025
Emily Dickinson famously wrote, โHope is the thing with feathers.โ In just a few words, she captured the fleeting, delicate nature of hopeโsomething barely felt, like the whisper of wings. And right now, that feels truer than ever. Hope hovers just beyond reach, shrouded by fear. Fear clouds our vision, making it harder to see the good, even when the path ahead is uncertainโor entirely hidden.
But feathers donโt belong only to hope. They carry weight in history, too. In ancient Egypt, the hearts of the dead were weighed against the feather of Maat, the goddess of truth and justice. A heart lighter than the feather was deemed worthy of the afterlife.
Hope is not just a featherโit is worth, it is justice. And arenโt worth and justice also hope? The hope that what seems invisible will be revealed? That the way forward will make itself known?
So how do we measure ourselves against truth and justice? Against the heavy force of hatredโdense, volatile, unpredictable? Hatred moves like lightning, sudden and violent, yet inevitable when the storm has been set in motion.
And yet, hope lingers. A thing with feathers, perched on the edge of our soul. A thing so light, yet so definingโlike the feather that once judged the weight of a heart.
So where will we land? On which side will we fall?
