What World

I'm more interested in the questions you're asking, much more than the opinions you hold.

I want to know that you're yourself in the wobble as much as the stance.

Today, I'm sitting with the what-the-fuck of it all. I want to say something honest but I also want to take care of the tender hearts. 

I don't want to bring noise, and yet I want to wail and shake the politicians and haters so they might wake the fuck up. 

I am both mother and warrior and am shoulder-deep in the not-knowing. 

Do you feel me? Are we here together in the question? 

I like to imagine we are even if it's scary to speak of what we don't know.

How many worlds are we living in anyway? 

Humanity, right now. 

Olive trees that have been growing for hundreds of years,

giving their fruits to family dinners for generations,

are burning.

Children are losing their siblings, their limbs, their lives. 

Surely we're living in a world where none of us actually want babies to die? 

No matter the stance...?

Why is that even a question?

I sit here looking out on blue skies and soaking in the sun. 

Belly, full. Well water, clean.

My husband tells me it's not useful to question why I'm so lucky at this moment.

It's not about deserving, he says, but I still don't understand why some are born in the corners of the Earth that are still trick or treating, and others are running for their lives and burying beloveds.

What kind of world are we living in? 

What kind of world are we creating?

The kind of questions that will evoke as many different responses as there are souls on this planet. 

But what does your soul say? 

The space between these questions is where our work lies.

And as any great artist knows, the beauty is in the process, not the product. 

The form behind the form that transcends all worlds and words and can't be argued.

It's like that Rumi poem…

Meet me there. Meet me here.