This is the face of deep deep ache. My own. My ancestors. A lineage of those who died renouncing what may have just been reinstated tonight. This is the pained expression of a pulpy lump of faith lay slain. This searing river down this anguished face — these are their tears too. Dear God, [Half-] America. What have you done?
Simply this:
You broke– no, pulverized my heart. You ripped its stuffing out.
You deflated Love’s expanding dream. Tore into a hopeful innocence just nearly on the mend.
You made a mockery of those who’d shed their blood, starved their bodies, made an exodus from their homelands in hopes of securing even one of the rights you now put at risk.
You fed us the opiate of ignorance, in place of the soul-food to which a spreading bulk of us have grown accustomed. You lulled a large sum of us back to sleep, when we’d only just begun to awaken; tricked enough of us back into the trance of the monger that the lot of us got dragged too, fully conscious and clawing at the tarmac. Back to a place we worked SO. DAMNED. HARD. to evacuate.
You made every unconsented-to man right whomever laid their vile hands on us, the sacred women who raised you, nourished you, sent you off into the world hoping you’d live into the men we needed you to be for the world. You spit right in the face of the great Motherhead to whom you owe your very breath to.
You made every racist, misogynistic, bigoted, hate-laden remark permissible by a nation. A nation closely watched by the world, a world who must now be tisking its tongue at our regression and repugnance. It had such high hopes for us. It wanted to take us with it, into an innovation-sustained, brilliance-based future. You made us a facsimile of our own cliche that we’ve been hard at work dismantling in the eyes of the global community….{My Dear World, beloved sister-brother nations, I…don’t yet have the words…this for another day.}
You made it okay to esteem our country a locker room – the kind, no less, which would never yield a champion of any kind of order. You casualized communication, only the very foundation for this whole human paradigm, from which all else arises. (So yes, remarks are a big FUCKING deal. And NO, not all men talk like that. And more would stop if they were held accountable for how NOT okay this is and how damaging to their own society).
You resurrected every last bully from our haunted pasts, and peeled back the healing we’ve done to leave those fools back there.
You said we’ll put up walls but build no bridges. You said we’ll use alienation as our defense, contempt as our offense. You said let’s make America great again, but failed to inform that your version of great was sans honor and decency. Was replete with venom and violation.
You sent us back 50…100…500 years. Back to dark, deplorable ages where violence with body and speech isn’t an answer but the programmed go-to nonetheless.
You made every persecutor a proxy hero, every unevolved man of entitlement and privilege but no honor whomever took pleasure in humiliating those with lesser status, the status quo.
Half-America, you are not the motherland I know. Not the home in my heart that protects and nurtures me and gives space for my necessary voice. You have made nothing great again. And he will NEVER be MY president, not ever.
But, Divided America, you have also done something else, despite yourself. Against your own sordid agenda, you’ve incited an uprising of magnanimous proportions, a conscious awakening in response to this blow. The love revolution soon fires back at your behest, brighter and more blazing than you are prepared for, relinquish any doubt about that.
So thank you for your inadvertent partnership, for your part in shaking awake the required powers that’ve lain dormant too long. You sent a quake of devastation through half a betrayed nation…but now watch us surf that wave, dear, unwitting conspirators who have another thing coming. We may feel this hot slap now, but a face-slapping of the consciousness order reverbs much louder, and deeper into the future.
Those who side with Love will rise, fierce and beefed up with more resolve than ever before, and it will be because of you.
But first, I mourn. As all rising women do.
The Blyss Catalyst 