There is always struggle. Such is life, It is a beautiful struggle. It is a struggle which forces us to always act, or else become void, numb, or fall prey to the workings of others. It is that which necessitates breath and food, sunlight, movement. It is about movement. Movement is struggle. Our movements are struggles. Struggles against those who leverage their force against us, against our life and our spirit. The struggles we all face move us. This is why they call it a “Movement”. In so much as we struggle within our movements, do our lives force us to move, and force our struggles to move. Placidity equals death, that simple. We must eat, and be eaten; breathe, and become breath; or suffer the ravages of apathy. Intention is the opposite of apathy, it is antithetical to the plight of civilization. Life wants to live, and death feeds life, those two streams of thoughts coalesce at the point at which your feet meet the living earth, and your mouth the moving wind. Those realities give you voice, pump your heart, and fill your lungs. Love is motion, love is intention and action. So is hatred, anger and violence. There is a world of moving forces and intentions that we co-inhabit, and to live without intention is to secede from your humanity. Your presence is in context, you live in the swirling miasma of others’ intentions, and the force they exhibit to make those intentions a reality. You literally breathe those intentions, in the smoggy air around you. That is the collective will of industrialists, capitalists, and as I’ve alluded to above, the apathy of those without an intention, or an intention without force. Those collective wills are what amounts to what we call power and in this day and age. Intention has power, and that power accumulates, it is like a rollover plan that has compounded over centuries to emerge as the physical reality that we know now. A reality that churns the wills of others, transforms them into apathy, or silences them by force. The wills of historical oppressors and slavemasters dictate our collective reality presently. Their intentions have manifested and have been given life and spirit through the creation of their mythology, of a white and male-supremacist god who happens to be granting unquestionable entitlement to those he favors over the rest of the living word. This mythology is exactly that, mythology. It’s existence, in a literal sense as we understand it, is not ‘real’; but at the same time, it’s existence is in itself a living force that uses the power of thought and writing to extend the grip of it’s writer’s intention. We live in the wake of that mythology, where adherents have relied on death and manipulation to enslave the intentions of the masses throughout history. This is what we face today, a collective will that has historically been fed by oppression. Those whose histories and skin colors, and biological sexes are that are favored by the snowballing force of collective wills cannot deny our privilege any longer, our blood and bodies are borne out of that privilege, we live it. We choose to immobilize ourselves and submit to the force of oppression when we choose to deny our privilege, We choose death, and perhaps not for ourselves- as benefactors of these oppressive intentions, but perhaps for others; for women, for people of color, for the indigenous of the world, for the countless non-humans that populate this world.This is the choice we make, when we choose to do nothing. We are selfishly choosing death for some unknown being. We are feeding the intentions of the cruel and selfish. We give them power when we deny our privilege, or choose not to act against it. The non-humans of the world out-populate humans by a vast ratio, and I do not wish to imply that they are without intention or the ability to give those intentions life. They are, every day, doing this work. This is why the birds sing, and the sun shines, and the wind blows, and the snow falls, and the rain comes down in torrents, and the sidewalks buckle under the force of roots, and the weeds sprout in those cracks and the finches pick the power lines to shreds, why the ocean itself moves. I ask those of us who have the ability, to search themselves for our sense of justice, of morality, of interconnectedness. When you find that sense of justice, bury it in the ground, or in a lover’s palms, or cast it into the ocean. There you will hear the insistent murmur of life, of intention, of love, and death as well. Pick it back up and store it within you. It is sacred, it is all of us, all life. It is a charm, of strength and love, of rage and passion. Protect it with every ounce of energy you contain, and that should be easy, because it will nourish you. Use whatever you have at your disposal, your hands, your heart, your voice, your laptop, your love, your ears, and give that sense of justice, which is an intention, it is the will of the living, and give it force. It is beautiful and transformative, and above all, it is necessary to regain what we have lost, and re-connect with what we’ve always had, and to repair what has been damaged.
Choose.
