So I think a lot of us are kind of looking around right now with our heads just spinning.
There's this heavy sense of you might even call it collapse or the very least, a constant nagging question of what in the world is going on around us.
It's easy to feel like we're living through tough and confusing days, but my guest today offers a different lens that has personally shifted how I see the world.
Valerie Cora is a civil rights leader, lawyer, and founder of the Revolutionary Love Project.
She spent decades on the front lines of justice and her latest work Sage Warrior.
It dives into the sick wisdom that helped her ancestors survive their own apocalyptic times.
Valerie is someone who has really looked into the eyes of those who meant her harm and chose to extend a hand and not a fist.
Not out of complacency or giving up, but out of strength.
In this deeply moving conversation, we talk about how to find your post in the world and why letting in pleasure isn't a distraction.
It's actually essential for the fight.
We explore why victory isn't always about the final result, but about who you become in the process.
So excited to share this conversation with you.
I'm Jonathan Fields and this is Good Life Project.
We are having this conversation at a quote, interesting moment in time where I think a And their heads are spinning and they're kind of feeling this sense of collapse or apocalypse.
Or at a bare minimum, they're just asking the question, what is happening here?
No matter where you come from, no matter what your beliefs are.
I think a lot of people are just in this moment of, And it seems like there's just a lot of fear, a lot of harm, a lot of concern.
You have this really interesting frame on moments like this, which is more of like fertile ground than sort of like the end of days.
So take me into this a bit.
The future is dark.
Is this the darkness of the tomb or the darkness of the womb?
What if our America is not dead, but a nation still waiting to be born?
What if the story of America is one long labor, a series of expansions and contractions, and we are in a severe and painful contraction?
But what if this is precisely the moment to show up in the labor?
What if all of our ancestors who have pushed through the fires before us through colonization and genocide and enslavement and mass incarceration?
What if all of them are standing behind us now, whispering in our ear, you are brave.
You are brave.
What if this is our greatest transition?
The midwife says to breathe and to push.
Jonathan, I believe that we are living in an era of transition, that our lifetime will be marked by this era of transition, and just as those ancestors who labored for a future they could not see stayed faithful to the labor, so too are we called to that sacred task.
I don't know how many more turns through the cycle it's going to take to birth the America that is waiting to be born, to birth a planet that knows how to live sustainably with itself.
I want so badly to see those futures, but I've had to reckon that In the last few years, especially every day now, I've had to reckon that I might not live to see that outcome.
And yet, I can see the task before me, the role that I have to play.
And so, with ancestors at back and the children of the future and their children before our eyes, can I show up every morning and roll up my sleeves and take a deep breath and make the push that I am called to make?
I believe that each of us are called right now to be braver with our lives and braver with our love than ever before.
And the only way that I can stay faithful to the labor is if I'm breathing and pushing with love.
That's how I get up every morning.
It's a frame that I think so many will not long listening to.
And then...
Ask themselves, but how?
How do we live with courage and joy and love when everything feels like it's falling apart?
You know, like how it seems, yes, you're not alone.
You're like, and there's a little voice, I think, inside of so many of us that says would that that were our reality?
But is it really?
Really?
It's a question, right?
What if this is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?
It is both.
I think it is important when you feel that breathlessness and that despair that carries information that is so vital.
It means that you are awake to the gravity of what we are losing every day on our planet, in our democracy, the people that we are losing amongst us.
It means that we are awake.
And so the sacred task is to stand in those moments when you can taste the ash in your mouth and all that grief and all that pain, and lift your gaze and realize that you are not alone in the dark, that we are right on the other side.
Reaching our hand.
Will you take our hand?
Will you take someone else's hand?
Will you breathe and push with them?
We don't go to battle alone.
We don't give birth alone.
So what does it mean?
And that first step is to take another's hand and then to decide.
What is the one step we can take together on this precious day with this one sacred life?
What is the one push that we can make together and to trust it and to believe in it?
The 2016 election, I'm like, all is lost.
All is lost.
It's the tomb after all.
And Parker said, don't measure your labor based on outcomes.
Care about the outcomes.
We care so deeply about the outcomes, but the labor is ongoing.
And you are part of a generation, generations who are laboring for a just and liberated world.
And so our task is to measure our labor by our faithfulness, measure our success by our faithfulness to our deepest values.
Can you stay faithful to the labor?
And I have found, especially these days, that I cannot labor alone.
Like I need my beloveds next to me.
I need my husband, my children, my parents.
I need my community.
I need to invest and deepen in those bonds of solidarity so that I can take that step together.
And when you ask, like what people ask me, what do I do?
What do I do?
What do I do?
And the truth is we need people everywhere.
Every single one of you, the labor, the fight is happening in the streets and in the courts.
It's happening at our kitchen tables and our classrooms.
It's happening in our churches and our yoga studios.
It's happening in our hearts every day.
Can we stand in that despair and choose love?
And turn that love into courageous action.
Can we see through the eyes of love?
Can we see through the eyes of the sage and the heart of a warrior?
And I think that is what I believe that we are called to do right now.
When I talk about being braver than we've ever been, what does it mean to stretch ourselves?
I know that I have been stretched since we've last talked.
And I notice that every time fear wants to make me contract.
If I can take the hand of a beloved and breathe and push and expand, then I become more than I've ever been.
And so that's what I mean about all of us being called to being braver than we've ever been, to be more than we've ever been.
And the truth is, when we are leading with love, we can free ourselves.
We can practice the world we want and the space between us as we're laboring for that world to come.
Mm-hmm.
It's interesting you bring up Parker Palmer as well.
I had a wonderful chance to sit down with him probably a couple of years ago now and just explore some similar ideas from his lens and experience, and I guess he's got to be like around 85-ish now somewhere around there.
And it was interesting because he was also sharing his journey.
And this relates to sometimes how we show up is that, you know, often the shape of that changes over time, over the seasons of our life.
Like he was sharing how when he was younger, he showed up, he was on the street.
He was advocating.
He was a champion of you know the causes um, as an activist on the street, in a very physically present way and over the seasons of his life, that felt like that wasn't his greatest form of contribution anymore.
That he didn't.
He wasn't opting out of saying what he wanted to say and felt like he needed to say And bringing people together in community, but he needed to do it in a different way.
And more in the role of somebody who thinks deeply, connects people in conversation in sacred containers and shares that with the world.
Does that land with you?
Oh, absolutely.
Let me tell you a story.
When I was in my 20s, I was in the streets with the bullhorn a lot, protesting the Iraq war.
And I experienced a moment of police brutality that injured my arm and neck and led to decades of chronic pain.
I still haven't healed from it, and so I took seriously the idea that there are multiple front lines and that we all have a role wherever we are, and so I found other front lines than the streets.
I went to writing and speaking and organizing.
And I thought, especially after I became a mama.
I said well, I can't nurse my babies from a jail cell.
So my babies need a mama who comes home every night.
That's the most important thing.
And that was in those early childhood years that that was my pulse.
That was my front line.
And I thought that once you find it, then it's always that.
And then this last summer, when our neighbors started to disappear here in Los Angeles, as our city was selected as the first city to deploy this force of masked men to abduct and kidnap people off the streets, I realized my children were now old enough to understand what was happening.
And that they didn't need a mama who minimized risk above all.
They needed a mama who showed them what courage looked like.
And so I found myself.
I'm in my 40s now.
I found myself driving to the federal building downtown where the protests were happening.
This is where they keep people they've abducted.
And as I was driving there, it was everything that you saw on the news.
It was the helicopters and the rifles and the batons and the tear gas and the cavalry.
And I knew what I was driving into.
My whole body started to shake.
I had the jail support number on my arm.
I had my bandana in my bag for tear gas.
My whole body started to shake.
It was the little girl in me who was so injured by that officer, who knew the cost of courage, and I wanted to turn around.
And it was my grandfather's voice, right?
He told me when I was a little girl, my dear, do not abandon your post.
Your post is where your deepest wisdom meets your words and actions.
And all that time my post was elsewhere.
But now I knew that the city of Los Angeles needed to see faith leaders in the streets, modeling nonviolent resistance rooted in love.
I knew the nation needed to see it.
So that became my post.
And And there was that little critic, that fear in me that said, you know how dangerous this is?
You can lose your other arm.
You could not come home tonight, right?
And the truth, that voice of fear in you is not wrong about the threat.
It's just wrong about the solution.
The solution is not silence.
The solution is more solidarity.
Who can you show up to that front line with?
Who will have your back?
And so that's when I called my teammate Anusha.
We're both there now.
And it was everything that you saw.
The tensions were rising between the soldiers and the protesters.
And we, as faith leaders, put our bodies between them and started to sing the old civil rights songs, and everything started to calm down.
We prevented so much violence that day.
And suddenly I get a push from behind me, a rabbi.
He's like, Valerie, you pray.
I'm like, oh, okay, okay.
She's like, no, pray that way.
And she turns me around to face this wall of ICE agents and officers.
And I feel that little girl in me shake again.
I look up and I remember that the people that are caging can hear us if we sing loud enough.
And so I take a breath and I close my eyes.
I remove my shoes.
This is how we pray in the Sikh tradition.
I'm like, the asphalt is hot under my feet.
I close my eyes holding flowers.
And I start reciting.
My grandfather Shabad, his song prayer.
The hot winds cannot touch you.
The hot winds cannot touch you.
You are shielded by love.
And As I was reciting, the people behind me started to recite their ancestors' songs.
And it was as if all of those song prayers of love were flowing through the centuries.
I really felt like it was like a force that was filling our hearts and making the shield.
It was so powerful.
I opened my eyes.
And the officer is this far away from me.
The baton is a few inches away from my heart.
And I realized that while my eyes were closed, they had advanced their entire line.
So they were almost on top of me.
You know what?
I wasn't afraid.
I wasn't shaking anymore.
I don't know how to tell you this, but it was as if in that moment I was invincible.
Like they could arrest me.
They could beat me.
They could even take my life.
But they could not end me.
Because I was part of a song of love that began long before we were born, would continue long after we go.
And that song of love was more powerful than any amount of weapons, any amount of oppression.
That song of love was the freedom that I felt.
The tear gas canisters go off, the flashbang grenades, a curfew is called, and we have to turn back.
But I remember that the people in the cages, they have to stay.
And the solution is not silence.
It's more solidarity.
So one week later, the faith leaders, we returned to the federal building.
And this time we brought hundreds of people with us.
And we were all carrying flowers.
And like what happens if not just one person, but so many of us had that feeling of invincibility and power and demonstrating love above all, what happens?
And we showed it.
We demonstrated it.
We were singing together.
And when I spoke that day, I turned to the agents and I asked them who do you want to be in this moment in history?
What does courage look like for you?
What does risk look like for you?
Is this who you want to be?
And we finished singing and I knew that revolutionary love is leaving no one outside of our circle of care.
Right,
That's what I declare.
And so I turned and i, we left the flowers for the families, but we also left.
I turned and i placed flowers at the feet of each of these ice agents and their full military gear and their weapons and their masks.
I turned around to leave the vigil's over and i hear ma'am.
I turn around and he gestures me to come toward him.
So I step toward him and he says, thank you.
And he puts out his hand.
What do I do?
In this very spot, you pointed your rifle at me.
You held your baton over me.
And now you extend your hand to me?
What do I do?
I had to remember my own words.
I wrote and Sage Warrior.
I wrote.
Revolutionary love is the choice to block your actions with one hand and extend the other with the hope that one day you will take it or your children will take it.
For the brief high of domination is nothing compared to the infinite love and joy of true community.
So I took his hand.
I don't know whether that officer will stop hurting our people, but I want to be the one who believes in that possibility.
That is who I want to be in the story.
The story of what we did in LA.
That summer of resistance started to spread and, As troops and ICE agents began to be deployed in cities across America, people began to show up.
And this time thousands of people brought flowers, thousands of flowers, left at detention centers and given to agents, themselves people in Portland.
They added the chicken and the frog right.
We were embodying a new way of resisting that was itself showing the world that we wanted a world of love and joy and courage, above all.
And here's the thing that The frontline is not only in those streets.
The frontline is anywhere where we get to choose to be brave with our love.
And so my question for all of us right now is what is your frontline?
In this moment in your life, in this season in your life, with the sphere of influence you have the courtroom, the boardroom, the classroom, the living room, the kitchen table.
What is your frontline?
And what does it look like to come to your frontline with flowers?
And we'll be right back after a word from our sponsors.
You used the phrase sage warrior in there, which is also the name of your newest work.
And can you say, I found those words in your book?
Yeah.
When you asked like you define the sage as someone who awakens insight and the warrior as someone who gathers and leads.
It was so beautiful to see those archetypes, you know, across time and place and in different forms.
But yes, my last book is called Sage Warrior.
Yeah.
And it's really powerful.
And you've used, I mean, you just shared a deeply, deeply compelling moment.
And if we went back and looked at the transcript of this entire story that you just shared with us, I would imagine the word that is repeated most is love.
And I don't want to just blow past that.
And this has been a core part of your philosophy from the very beginning.
And it's also, it involves this notion of reframing the, quote, capital O, opponent.
You know, and also weaving in this notion of oneness.
You know these, these kind of really core elements of not just your beliefs but how you show up in the world.
And these are again, these are these aspirations that a lot of people look and say well, what if I could see my quote opponent as not an opponent but simply Somebody else like where there is some way that we share beliefs or values and we wanted the same thing like for and from each other.
But we just couldn't get to a place where the mechanism was agreed upon.
And in fact, it may be almost violently different the way that we perceive it.
What if I could see the other as not another, but simply just an extension of me and I an extension of them?
These are ideas where I think all of us have heard them.
All of us have read them.
All of us have been preached them.
And probably most of us nod along and saying I wish that this was the world that I live in.
But is it really?
I was fortunate to sit down with Andi DeFranco a couple of months ago on the podcast.
My dear sister.
Right.
Of course you come up in the conversation because how could you not, right?
And we were talking a lot about her and her relationship to your work and how she tries.
And in the early part of our conversation, she was referencing the opponent.
By the time we came around towards the end of the conversation, she was saying my work in the world right now is basically to stop doing.
That is to acknowledge the fact that we see the world differently.
But how can I see them as me and me as them and stop even using that label?
Powerful aspirations weave this undertone of love and connectedness into even moments like what you just described.
And then the big question I think so often is, how do we operationalize that?
How do we go past thinking, That sounds awesome.
Wouldn't it be cool if that was really the way that worked?
But how do we make this an actual part of our day-to-day reality?
I think this is a lot of what you go into in Sage Warrior.
So let's actually just talk about that phrase even.
Let's start out there with the notion of sage warrior.
Take me to what this actually means.
Well, I've spent 20 years of my life organizing around hate.
I have made a promise to spend the rest of my life organizing around love.
Hmm.
And so your question about how do we operationalize this is the question that I am designing into and organizing around and building.
The Revolutionary Love Compass is a tool that we put into people's hands to about how to love others and opponents and ourselves.
And we have this beautiful learning hub with free curricula and meditations and guides for how to take the compass into your life, wherever you are.
Um, When we hold the compass in our hands, it requires that bravery.
And I designed the compass when I wrote my first books, you know, Stranger.
And then when I wrote that book in 2020, it came out in 2020.
I didn't think the world, the world didn't feel like it was ending.
Yeah.
And then it did feel like it was ending between the pandemic and the racial reckonings.
And now the rise of authoritarianism capturing our country and countries around the world, with climate catastrophes upon us.
It has felt like so breathless.
And I realized that if I was going to hold this compass, if I was going to keep leading with love and organizing around it, that I had to go deeper.
And so I spent time in the rainforest with my family.
And every morning I would sit next to a river and close my eyes and ask myself how did my ancestors survive apocalyptic times?
How did they confront authoritarian regimes and still walk this path of love?
In the Sikh tradition.
It's a tradition 550 years old.
Our ancestors called us to be Santh Sabahi, sage warriors.
The warrior fights, the sage loves.
It is an ancient doorway into revolutionary love.
I believe that I feel strangely prepared for this moment in history, because I'd spent all that time in retreat, retrieving the stories of those ancestors and what it meant to be a sage, to see through the eyes of wonder, to be able to look up on the face of anyone and say you are a part of me.
I do not yet know.
That is a practice.
Our minds are wired to see the world in terms of us and them.
And it's especially rigid in the culture that we live in now.
And so to practice seeing all others as kin is a revolutionary practice that begins within.
To imagine...
Our connection to everyone and everything is to produce a sense of awe inside of you.
And we can't live into it all of the time, but we can drink from it.
In our tradition it's called vismad those ecstatic moments where you realize I don't know where I begin and you end.
I had that a lot when I was nursing my baby daughter.
I don't know where I end, where you begin.
Lately I've been feeling it as we're marching in the streets singing, and the song.
Prayers go on and on right.
I don't know where I end and you begin.
And so those moments of oneness are not throwaway moments, not incidental.
They are insights into the sacred nature of things.
And so our task then, is to remember what we drink from when we have those sage moments into what we do.
And that then drops us into the warrior, the sepahi, to be able to put that love into action for the people who are in front of us and those we are accountable to.
My grandfather taught me that my task was to face the hot winds of the world with the eyes of a sage and the heart of a warrior.
And that means our ethics and the Sikh tradition are not.
It's not any list of rules or commandments at all.
It's an orientation, a way of being, a way of seeing things that leaves no one outside of our circle of care.
All of that came down to me from the ancestors, the gurus, the mathas and the bibis, and so this book became a compilation of stories and scriptures and song prayers that I needed to fortify the sansapahi in me, and truly, Because what I do is sometimes really dangerous, especially now.
There's a comfort I have in knowing that my children have now an inheritance that I most wish to give to them so that they can play their role when it comes to be their time and their moment in history to be as brave, as awake, as free.
I believe that we all can become sansapahi.
We all can be sage warriors, that this is the deepest ancestral wisdom across time and place to be brave with our love.
And I think when we call ancestors saints, we drain them of their power because we're saying that we cannot be like them.
But to believe truly deeply that Love is our birthright, that you already know how to do this, that we came into the world thirsting for love.
We came to the world with the eyes of wonder, right?
And we know how to be brave.
That first time we spoke or did the hard thing or defended someone, we had these capacities within us.
And our job is to simply to surface them and fortify them, to become more of them.
And that's why we're building this movement of revolutionary love across the country, why we're inviting people.
Like you said, this is not the world that it is, and you're absolutely right, but it is the world that could be.
And the invitation is to practice that world in the space between us.
Every part of my life now, whether it's My husband coming home and he's really tired or my children throwing a tantrum.
I mean, they're out of tantrums now.
Now it's more like bedtime, bedtime, bedtime.
But there are all these moments right inside your own home, inside your daily life, and then out in the streets and then out in the world and with your public in all the ways.
Everything I see now as as an experiment.
I have come to see my life as a series of experiments with revolutionary love.
And I think that's the best we can ask of each of us now.
It's like, what do we have to lose?
Can you take this compass in your hand?
Can you experiment?
And you might be surprised by what you find.
I've been braver than I've ever been, and I didn't know that that also would mean being freer than I've ever felt.
In a time when they want to control us, colonize us, suppress us, silence us, I feel so free and so powerful, and I want that for each and every one of us who cares.
And there's a way to do it.
And our deepest ancestral wisdom shows us how.
And Sage Warrior is one invitation to take that into your life.
I mean, so powerful.
I think it actually makes sense to talk about that word actually, powerful.
Power.
Because this is a central part of what we're talking about.
Power is intimately involved in everything here.
And we have a complicated relationship with the notion of power and also the word power.
It's so often associated with dominance.
Yes.
Power over.
You know, like I get to quote control.
You invite a different frame around power.
Which is, if I'm understanding right, built more around protection.
Is that a word that lands?
Care.
Care.
Tell me more.
I remember the moment my son was first born.
And landed on my chest.
And I was shaking and sobbing from that rush of emotion.
And I thought this was love.
I was falling in love.
And I was.
There was a role for the falling.
But as I was feeling this rush, I looked over at my mother and she was opening her bag and taking out her doll and Joel and feeding me, like feeding me, as I'm feeding her baby, as I'm feeding my baby.
And that was the first time I looked at my mother with new eyes.
And I realized that she had never stopped laboring for me from my birth now to my baby's birth.
And she had never seemed so powerful.
She was teaching me that love was not simply a feeling that comes and goes, ebbs and flows sentimental fickle anemic, right.
That love is sweet labor, fierce, demanding, life-giving, a choice we make again and again.
And when we make that choice again and again, it has the power to transform the world around us.
When I think about how terrified I was those early years Raising these small brown children and a nation more dangerous for them than it was for me, and realizing that, for all my tools as an activist, I couldn't protect them from the racial slur in the street or the schoolyard, that I might not be able to protect them for what's coming from them.
I was beginning to learn what Black and Brown and Indigenous mothers on the soil have long learned.
That we can only... give our children a sense of freedom within in a world that would deny them.
We can only give our children a sense of their belovedness in a world that wants them to hate themselves.
We can only give our children a sense of their power in a world that says that they're powerless.
And then, when we do that And the space between us, as mother to child, as families, as communities, as neighbors, we begin to plant liberation experiments that model what the whole world could one day be.
And I believe that these liberation experiments are not like soap bubbles that pop and disappear.
I believe that they're sound waves that carry far into the future.
Just the way I'm talking about hearing those ancestors who practiced that beloved community on the riverbeds of Punjab 500 years ago.
I hear them.
I hear that music.
And now I want to ask, what does that look like now here? in the space between us, right?
So too, so too, 500 years from now, will they hear our song?
Will they practice?
Will they be inspired?
That is powerful.
That kind of power outlasts any actions that are driven by domination and aggression and oppression.
Yeah.
And that's what they precisely they want.
They want us to feel like.
Only those who hold the reins of wealth and weapons in this world hold power, only the authoritarians who are willing to inflict violence, to kill civilians, to let rogue agents take the lives of innocent people.
Like, they want us to believe that they are the ones who have the power, but...
It only becomes true if we deny our own.
And I notice that when I look at my mother and think about her power and how she has shaped and changed and sent me into this life, everything I am I can access my own power to do that with and for the people around me.
And that is how imagine multiplying that and building that.
And that's what movements are made of.
And we'll be right back after a word from our sponsors.
And when you frame power in the context of care.
Yes.
Nobody.
Nobody's excluded.
You don't have to wait.
That's it.
Right.
You know, it's like because everybody can show up and offer care in even the smallest way.
And if that is power, it can really never get taken away from us.
No, it's to love is our birthright.
And that is the most powerful gift we're given as human beings.
And so why deny yourself?
The one gift that fills your life with joy.
That's what I've discovered too.
As deep as the despair goes, as the grief goes, as the rage goes.
When I continue to return to the labor with love, it always brings the joy of community and connection back.
Being alive here and now in motion in this conversation with you, Jonathan.
Oh, that's what it means, right?
To be awake as a sage, to take the wonder and mystery and magic of being alive and to be in the current of action together brings all the meaning that makes life worth it.
Which also makes me think about the word pleasure, which again is something else that you dip into.
Because oftentimes, in moments where we feel like there's a lot of struggle around us whether it's this moment or 10 years ago or something very personal in your life we feel that we actually don't have access to pleasure.
And in fact...
Sometimes it extends beyond that.
We feel like we shouldn't have access to pleasure.
The moment is too heavy.
The moment is too important.
This is not a moment about pleasure.
Pleasure is taking the energy away from where it should be directed, which is some form of progress.
You see it differently.
I wish I learned this much earlier.
When I was a 20-year-old activist in those streets, you know my first, oh all those years where I only knew how to push.
I didn't know how to breathe.
I ground my bones into the earth and I called that service.
I was always comparing my suffering to the people I was serving.
And so, of course, I was not worth serving. that.
I, um, measured my worth by how little I slept, how much I produced and how quickly.
And it was, um, of course that leads to breakdown, right?
And it was, I realized that, um, This is again where community saves you.
I just remember back in 2016, after that election, that moment again, when you continue to not deny yourself the kind of life that you wish for everyone around you.
It is probably the greatest act of violence one could commit.
And I remember a voice in my head saying, after that election in 2016 you're not strong enough to live in this world.
And I'm so glad I said those words out loud, because it was my husband who caught me and my mother who caught me.
And that's how I first started. left the country for the rainforest to think and write and breathe.
And the rainforest they say is in many indigenous cultures like the womb of the earth, like it's warm and wet and safe and generative.
And I know many women, women of color don't have that.
And I'm so grateful that I was able to save my own life there to breathe and to know that I was worthy of breath.
That was the first step.
Not pleasure, just breath, just rest was the first step for me.
And that was the beginning of me understanding that, you know, my baby's in my arms.
You are so good.
You are so beautiful.
You are so beloved.
You are worthy of all the gifts and joys and pleasures of this world.
You are brilliant.
He's a newborn.
And my husband's like, why don't you speak to yourself that way?
Hmm.
I'm like, oh, I married too well.
And I realized I had to practice, right?
That little critic was so loud in my head.
I had to practice.
I had to find the voice of the wise woman in me.
The way I do this and talk to my beloved baby, or my beloved
Can I talk to myself that way?
And So I got a journal and it says every day, wise woman here, wise woman says, oh my love.
Like that's what I call my children.
Oh my loves.
I call my, oh my love.
You are tired today.
It's time to rest.
You're going to pour yourself a cup of tea.
And you're going to sit down.
I know the protests are happening.
I know you've got to speak at that vigil tomorrow.
And you don't know how to prepare for this conversation with Jonathan.
But you don't have to be perfect.
You just have to be present.
She's talking to me every day.
That wise woman.
It's been 10 years now.
My eldest is now 11.
So it's been 11 years now of practicing listening to her voice.
And it's why I don't have to continue to be in the rainforest.
Now I'm back here.
The rainforest is inside of me.
The wise woman tells me all my love.
Rest.
Breathe.
And then the last few years, she's been challenging me, let in pleasure.
And it was only going back to the ancestors that that I understood that pleasure wasn't a nice to have a modern convention, that actually our deepest ancestral wisdom was about letting in the experiences that would awaken your senses, that pleasure can actually be a conduit to the divine and the beloved.
There's a whole chapter in Sage Warrior called Practice Pleasure and it tells the story of the Guru, Guru Amardas, who is sitting in meditation.
And all you know, we're just longing for that connection, that feeling of connection to the oneness that always is.
And as he's connected, as he's feeling it, you know the word that comes to his lips?
Anand.
Anand.
Anand, Anand, Anand, which means ecstatic divine pleasure.
To be enlightened, to be connected to the One is not a detachment from the body, a mind-only experience.
In my tradition, it is fully embodied.
Your body quakes with the waking up, right?
The sweat beads, the heartbeat the, The aliveness of the senses.
You are here, you are now and across time and place.
All of these traditions, our wisest tools, call us to pleasure through music and meditation and movement and song and certain substances.
Mine is chocolate, I can say.
Cacao is my substance, 100% cacao from the rainforest, right?
Same here, by the way.
And sensual pleasure too, right?
How many of us, as women especially, have been taught to cut ourselves off from that desire, that need, and to be able to know that all of these are conduits to the oneness that is around us?
One, not two, worth more or better than the other.
You get to choose the practices that are most meaningful to you, the practices of anand.
And so once i discovered that, and like well, my gurus, tell me then now I'm so much more intentional.
We got a record player.
I got my instruments.
If I'm going to show up in the streets and fight authoritarian forces, then I got to be.
I got to double down on my game when it comes to the sage in me, so I can be the warrior right.
So now I have music in my life every day.
I have sung it.
I have community that I bring into my house.
It's not just okay.
It is actually essential.
How did our Black ancestors stand in those fields and sing songs of freedom that gave them wings right?
How did our Indigenous elders continue to gather around the fires when their children have been shipped to boarding schools and sing and shake and drum right?
How do people all over the planet survive mass graves and the impossible?
Their children disappeared.
And this is what I did.
I traveled to Brazil and Guatemala and South Africa to study other authoritarian regimes this last year.
And every time there was a horrific story, you know what the women would do?
They would then the Mayan women, the Condomble elders, they would take out the drums and they would start dancing like crazy.
They would dance with the graves just a few feet away to declare their sovereignty, declare their freedom, to let in the pleasure of being alive and saying, we are free, we are liberated, and you cannot take that away from us.
We are sovereign.
And that, that...
Thank you so much for having me.
Do you need to show up as the warrior?
And who can you do that with?
And I guess part of that is also taking the time to really create the space and pause and ask of yourself.
What is and isn't showing up?
What part of those?
Am I all warrior?
Am I all sage?
And what am I?
What harm am I doing to myself and to others, or to the causes that I believe in, by basically becoming the embodiment of one half of this really beautiful, powerful stance, and not all of it together?
That's it.
That's it.
To be whole.
One of the other things I did want to dip into and I think it kind of touches on what we're talking about here.
Also is this notion of and this is from your last book too becoming victory.
You kind of referenced it a number of times in a conversation, but not directly.
In the way that you invite people to show up, the phrase is powerful and curious to me.
Take me into it.
This was another thing I learned from going back to the ancestors of Guru.
Gobind Singh was our 10th Guru.
And he was the one who was charged to fight an emperor who is ruling with authoritarian violence.
And there's a story about how the city of Anandpur was under siege and the emperor was Granted.
The guru swore on the Quran that he would have safe passage, him and his family.
And he's crossing the river Sarsa in the middle of the night with his children and the last of his warriors.
And as they're crossing this icy river, arrows start to fly and they are under siege.
And all of his children are killed.
And his mother dies in a tower.
And he's separated from his family.
And he has lost everything.
He's lost his city.
He's lost his family.
He has a few people left.
He wanders through the wilderness.
And he's singing in the wilderness.
And we still have these songs that he composed.
And when he emerges from the wilderness, he writes this letter to the emperor that's called the Zafarnama, the Epistle of Victory.
And it says, essentially, you took my city, my children are dead.
I seem to have lost everything, but you are the one who broke your promise to Allah, to the Beloved.
And so who has won?
Who does victory belong to?
The Guru is giving us a new definition of victory.
So many people ask me, what do I do?
What do I do?
And I ask them, well, who do you want to be?
Who do you want to be in this moment in history?
And if we are showing up with our integrity, our deepest values, our humanity, if we're, No matter what happens here and now.
And that's why I think that moment.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I had a taste of what that was when I was facing those officers and the baton, and I felt invincible.
I think I finally experienced that. what it felt like to become victory in that moment.
And there are moments now since that I wish I could say, and I felt invincible since.
There are plenty of moments where I've been afraid afraid for my family, for the nonprofit that I run, for the people I'm serving.
We're talking in the wake of the most recent murder and we're about to show up in the streets again.
And so there are plenty of moments where I'm afraid, but I hold that memory now of what it meant for me to choose courage and I'm a little bit braver than I've been before.
And I know that those moments of invincibility of becoming victory are the lasting truth.
And I rest in that.
And this too is an invitation for everyone.
What does it mean for you to become victory?
That feels like both a good question and a good moment for us to come full circle in our conversation.
I asked you this question once before, five or so years ago, maybe at this point, maybe longer.
I'll ask it again.
Some time has passed in this container of Good Life Project.
If I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up?
Is to love.
Thank you.
I love you, Jonathan.
Thank you.
Love you too.
Hey, before you leave, be sure to tune in next week for our conversation with Rachel Zofnes about why pain isn't just physical and how we can literally retrain our brains to find relief.
Be sure to follow Good Life Project wherever you get your podcasts so you don't miss an episode.
This episode of Good Life Project was produced by executive producers Lindsay Fox and me, Jonathan Fields, editing help by Alejandro Ramirez and Troy Young.
Chris Carter crafted our theme music.
And, of course, if you haven't already done so, please go ahead and follow Good Life Project wherever you get your podcasts.
Thank you so much for having me. because that's how we all come alive together.
Until next time, I'm Jonathan Fields signing off for Good Life Project.
Thank you.
