The opening line of Joy Harjo’s poem, “A Postcolonial Tale,” found me just in time.

I’ve always followed the news closely, priding myself on being aware of events here and around the world. But scrolling through the latest tragedies and travesties on my phone each morning was turning me into someone I didn’t want to be. Social media, of course, made things worse. Reading posts from some of my childhood friends, folks I’d gone to church with, relatives, or an old roommate, could leave me angry and distrustful of people I’d known for most of my life. My views of those with whom I disagreed were hardening. Fossilizing. My vision of people and events was increasingly painted in black and white. I was stewing in a sort of hopeless self-righteousness.

Harjo’s proclamation that “Every day is a reenactment of the creation story” broke the spell. Her poem, published in 1994, puts most of the blame on TV, which she calls, “the box that separates the dreamer from the dreaming,” but it certainly applies to our more modern devices.

Lately, I’ve taken to starting my days with that opening line, reflecting on the creative potential of every morning. It challenges me to look for signs of new life, rather than just the news. It enables me, at least for a moment, to set aside the past and imagine what healing might look like. Most importantly, it reminds me that this sort of imagining is open to everyone, every day.