My vision has shifted, my eyes are clear.
I get it now. This is the message.
It is a gift, this knowing.
We stand in the midst of a rebellion.
The corporatocracy doesn’t want us to see it, doesn’t want us to understand,
how many of us there are, how powerful,
There are no statisticians to count us,
no numbers on pages to show.
But there is a uprising slowly growing,
you must listen, be quiet, read between the lines, observe.
There are freedom fighters everywhere.
In the story about tiny houses on the nightly news,
in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, a man, a woman, a grandmother, refusing to buy GMO’s,
it is written on the muscular thighs of your neighbor who commutes to work by bike,
and it’s sparkling in the eyes of the young woman, handcuffed to branches, tree sitting.
It’s in books, and art, and music,
painted on the sides of trains,
signalled in signs.
Against the culture of destruction,
against rabid consumerism,
pain, and suffering, violence, and fear.
This is a renaissance, a transformation, the dawning of a new day.
This is war without borders,
a battle with no boundaries.
It rages in all nations,
in all places,
in our hearts.
We must fight with weapons of blood and bone,
Let each decision you make, each action you take,
be part of your larger strategy, part of the larger goal.
Of that which is broken, damaged, dead.
Let us eat clean foods, and filtered water,
talk in whispers and into megaphones,
learn to fight, climb, and run,
know the plants that are good to eat, how to start a seed, how to hunt and butcher animals, wild, free meat.
Know how to start a fire, how to clean poisoned water, how to make simple shelters, waterproof, warm and dry.
Hone your senses.
Let us be so gentle that our children laugh and coo and kiss and play,
and so fierce that the monsters cower at our feet.
Soft like feathers, strong like steel.
Fluid, like water.
They want us to believe we are nothing,
but we are something.
There is power in naming. The right name gives the gift of visibility, of power, of strength.
They don’t want us to know it, to believe it, to own it.
to name it.
Savor the sound of it on your lips, the tickle of the tongue,
the beat in your heart.
You are a fighter, a warrior, a rebel,
You are brave, and smart, and quick, and good.
They are not.
You are a part of something big, something great, something unimaginably beautiful. After this the world will never be the same.
Stand tall, raise your head up high. Let it be the reason you get up in the morning, the last thing on your mind before you go to bed at night. Know it in your mind, your heart, your muscles, shout it from the rooftops, write it on the walls.
Let it fill your dreams with forests,
dark and light,
smoke and fire,
May we find one another,
may we join hands.
may we go wild,
Thank you for listening,
Michelle. You have written something straight from the heart of the earth. Thank you for inspiring me, thank you for supporting me, thank you for your words and your warm heart. I love you. This is truly beautiful. Read this. Feel it. Love it.
Always we are looking to other humans for advice.
May we instead take our hints from the wild ones.
We need to flock like birds, and sing like them.
Burrow together in our nests.
Teach each other to fly.
We need to grow like weeds in waste places, come up between cracks in the sidewalk, climb a building and choke it with our vines.
They’ll label us “invasives”- though we know that we can grow even in the deepest ditch, even between rocks on the train tracks; we know those weeds are still food and medicine.
We can be that food and medicine. We have the ability to begin healing our planet. We need to roam as a pack.
Keep our loved ones away from danger. Guard the flanks. Sound the alarm. Protect fiercely, with all our might.
We watch the beautician at the makeup counter, getting pointers on using blush for our cheeks, but..
Instead, may our cheeks flush early each morning, the cool wind against our skin as the stars are hidden behind their velvet curtain and the copper sun creeps in from the darkness.
May we flush with anticipation, with passion, with rage, with pleasure.
We take a cue in behavior from the person sitting quietly on the train, or at the dentist’s office, but..
Let us walk quietly to our sit spots, wearing down the paths we walk so often, as the deer does, so that we may sit quietly, observe, and remember, and question, and guess.
Let us sit quietly in prayer, in meditation, in mourning.
We raise our hands in class as we’re told- with a question or an answer at the tips of our fingers, pointing up, oh! pick me, pick me, I know this one, but..
May we raise our hands while dancing, spinning, spread them like wings while running, while swimming, praising, or diving down deep for the cool, round stones at the bottom of the river.
May we raise our hands to catch our little ones, raise them to wave high at the crows that cross the city each winter day at dusk.
We punch numbers into a GPS and allow it to guide us across the land toward the people we seek, but..
May our words become our echolocation, pushed out into the environment, gently like feelers, and returning with information for us.
May we locate and identify those who, like us, see that there is so much more to this world than the plastic junk we worship, the electronics we crave, the sports trophies we envy, the clothing we covet.
As an elderly friend once told me, “Burning hearts find burning hearts.” May we use our burning hearts to navigate instead. We might envy the incredible eyesight of the eagle, or the sprinting speed of the cheetah, the strong breadth of the elephant, the olfactory prize that is the bear’s snout, or the keen hearing of the owl, but..
We don’t need the many eyes of the spider to see our many connections to this planet. The question is, are we watching?
The violin and the hunter’s bow, both coaxed gently out of willow.
The drum and soft moccasins, fitted snugly out of hide.
The clock and the human heart, beating, both ticking with time. The tin whistle and the thrush, each ringing with earth music.
In this world of plenty, we can still return to our wild selves.
They are all around us in the rivers, in the treetops, beneath stones, under the belly of the snake, deep in the blue of the sky, in the surf at the edge of the sea, and buried under clay.
Floating under heavy ice, stuck in the hot desert sands.
Let us gather them, tend them, and slip back into them;
Let us raise our hands high with the answer,
Oh! beauty, pick me, pick me, I know this one.