I was afraid of the ghosts in the house, but I managed to train one of them. I told my parents the house was haunted, and proved it by telling Morris, the ghost I trained, to open and close the door, which he did. My parents told me I should stay even though the place was haunted. I said, “These ghosts are yours, not mine.” I had to leave.
Protesting is an act of love. It is born of a deeply-held conviction that the
world can be a better, kinder place. Saying “No” to injustice is the ultimate
declaration of hope.
—Amy Goodman (b. 1957) in her book Standing Up To The Madness:
Ordinary Heroes in Extraordinary Times 2009
“The only way to deal with an un-free world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” — Albert Camus (1913-1960)
I do not, cannot stop myself. Grief. My body trembles for weeks. My hands shake and I cannot eat without effort. Who am I? I have to keep walking, that was all I know.
Consciousness. Cracking open the world so that what once was can no longer be and always is. Just a brighter vision and a deeper darkness – an indelible pressing of fingers, lips, forehead. An indelible inkling of something more.
Consciousness, widespread and underlying. Under. Over. I feel myself almost wrapped around a rock, just wanting to send love and hold on to it. I am not falling, I am acknowledging. I am in a physical body; my body can hold the consciousness that expands outward to the cosmos. My body can express the cosmos. My body expresses and collects consciousness – from everything it experiences.
I am glad to watch this. I feel cracked open right now, and this is the perfect message I need to hear right now. I’ve heard it before, but I am hearing it more deeply today.