Sacrifice/ Solipsis (The Hanged Man)
Who here can indulge in self-reflection anymore? My brother is being shot in the streets. My sister is being raped and destroyed.
Everywhere, when I close my eyes, I feel it is the same people, in the same positions, with slightly different names. This side here, that side there. The rebellious brave or brave rebels learning to love torture and despair in the name of Sacrifice.
I don't know if there's a word for "feeling heavy with the sorrows of the world." This language does not have it. My language, that tastes like having rocks in your mouth.
What or who will unite us? Many fear a merging into one, as if our lines, colors, hairpieces, lack of shoes, headdresses will all be erased into something colorless. But this takes sacrifice. Maybe our bodies become erased, but not the heart. Who knows the lonely sound of the heart as it resonates quietly with billions of others, performing as they do? One day this will be a river of blood and water, flowing together.
Who has a moment with the peace that passes understanding? Who has refuge from the gunshots, blood or destruction?
It is strange. When I close my eyes, I don't see these lines. This is not a linear experience. We are things lightly bordered, here and there.
I am often a being of hatred. But I was once a being of exceeding compassion. Non-myopic. Only seeing that my brother has a heart and my sister has a heart. We were all quiet, in the darkness.
What have you actually done, they ask?
I start with small steps. I change myself first.
I am not worthy to be called "brave." Few are. Few live in such deliberateness.
"You must listen, truly and sincerely." Sometimes it is shocking and difficult.
Sometimes I think we are better under duress.
Everywhere, when I close my eyes, I feel it is the same people, in the same positions, with slightly different names. This side here, that side there. The rebellious brave or brave rebels learning to love torture and despair in the name of Sacrifice.
I don't know if there's a word for "feeling heavy with the sorrows of the world." This language does not have it. My language, that tastes like having rocks in your mouth.
What or who will unite us? Many fear a merging into one, as if our lines, colors, hairpieces, lack of shoes, headdresses will all be erased into something colorless. But this takes sacrifice. Maybe our bodies become erased, but not the heart. Who knows the lonely sound of the heart as it resonates quietly with billions of others, performing as they do? One day this will be a river of blood and water, flowing together.
Who has a moment with the peace that passes understanding? Who has refuge from the gunshots, blood or destruction?
It is strange. When I close my eyes, I don't see these lines. This is not a linear experience. We are things lightly bordered, here and there.
I am often a being of hatred. But I was once a being of exceeding compassion. Non-myopic. Only seeing that my brother has a heart and my sister has a heart. We were all quiet, in the darkness.
What have you actually done, they ask?
I start with small steps. I change myself first.
I am not worthy to be called "brave." Few are. Few live in such deliberateness.
"You must listen, truly and sincerely." Sometimes it is shocking and difficult.
Sometimes I think we are better under duress.
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