May the waves of our grief
and the fires of our open hearts
rise and flow to remind us all
of the power that we contain.
Our bones are made of mountains
Our tears made of stars
With the contraction and expansion of every heart beat
Our bodies call to the grief and ecstasy of life
May we remember
in honor of all those who are forgotten
May we remember
in honor of the blood in the soil
and the beings that have been lost.
I actually wrote that over a week ago, before I really heard about the murder of Alton Sterling, followed by the murder of Philando Castile, and a number of other deaths of POC
in the last few days that happen everyday.
It came after a night of devotion to Kali. It came after having another layer of maya ripped from my sight. I’ve been struggling to reorient myself since then, and have realized that nothing has felt stable in longer than I can remember.
Three weeks ago I wrote “I don’t know what’s next. We’ll see what the coming weeks and months bring, even if I am afraid to look.”
I keep diving into the current, hoping to pull out something profound and meaningful, something that will inspire to empowerment and action. But I gotta be honest: right now I’m not finding anything other than the ominous. And as I watch the protests surge across the country, fear and grief flowing through the people, I can’t help but feel that this is not the end.
Are you feeling it too? That sense of something being ripped open, of something below the surface that feels too dark, too deep?
Do you feel the resistance, like a rip tide?