I took this photo at Ritsona refugee camp in Chalkida, Greece. This breathtaking mural was painted by Yazidi artist, Ismail Noh.
I feel you.
You,
Who feels the chronic ache of the insensitivity of the world.
The horror of war lives in your heart as if it were your own.
It is.
As bombs explode on other continents, they also implode in your brain, Extravasated blood trickling back to your heart, nourishing it with each drop. Daring you to care.
You,
Who sees beyond false smiles, violent outbursts, and airtight facades.
You, who perceives the lonely child.
You,
Who becomes restless and bored with gratuitous chatter.
Plastic things.
Fearful threats.
You feel the disappointment of missed connections, unconscious movement.
Of the overwhelming abundance that means nothing.
Less than nothing.
Who feels the bottom fall out of you from the weight of these things, tearing a hole, Robbing like thieves your precious human-ness. The touchy feely-ness of authentic fleshy wet nourishing abundance.
You think poetry.
Spit heart blood through your lips with your words.
Write nonsensical truth.
Yes, you, the one with Courage. The Brave one trying to hide your tears.
She,
Who waxes with the brilliance of the Moon, and wanes into the darkest Darkness,
And navigates both with otherworldly saavy and dexterity.
Intolerant of the inner and outer warfare of body shaming, bullying, sexual, emotional, spiritual and intellectual intolerance.
You, who sees the smallness of bullies; the cowering shadow.
You,
Who was so humiliated that you shrank into smallness and dared never be Magnificent again.
You,
Who knows the fear that lets us know without saying what we are not to say out loud.
You know the pain of those that don’t know that a gentle touch, the gentlest,
Which can hardly be felt at all, simmers and incites the subtlest but most
Real human connectivity.
The one that means something, and is more
Masterful than the keenest intellect.
You,
Named “mentally ill” - who couldn’t bear it anymore –
I know you saw, you felt, you see and feel keener than the intelligent ones.
You are the most loved. The most loving.
Forgive us our inability - our incapacity - to perceive, to feel you. A million apologies Will never be enough.
You,
Who knows that fear is a lie that you can wink at or wear like a coat of armor.
You,
Who sees with your eyes closed, and is so wise you recognize the world painted on your inner landscape. That you are a hologram of everything.
I want to talk with you. I want to know you. I believe we’ve already met somewhere? Show me your defenseless Self; my eye is open.
Want to change the world? Visit my Activism Page
