Or else it takes a second.
Once that sinks in, something golden wells up. It can take a while to well, 'cause it can feel a little agoraphobic after the blinkers. It threatens to bubble right out the middle of your chest when you see and hear and read and get to experience a little bit of the creativity and vision of those who have jumped ship.
You realise that the small group of ship-steerers have it in their own best interest to keep you believing that everywhere you turn there is lack. And that you have believed them, though you had hoped that the world was big enough to sustain you all. And then you realise that while they tell you out of one side of their mouths that there is lack, there is lack, there is lack, through the other side they suck in through a straw your riches and spew out degradation into the earth in return.
You realise that these fuckers are insane.
And then you realise, with a flip into the middle of the golden, that what flutters in you as hope and feels like naivety is not pie-in-the-sky daydreaming. It is the hope of creative possibility. Of sanity. Of caretaking. Of a new (old) narrative. It is yours.
And then you start to see how it is possible to be doing pretty much near *everything* differently. And that it is our dream, the earthdwellers, to birth into reality.
|Feather by St Stev|