This week I came across an Iranian writer who spoke to my heart. I was struck by how young she died. I’m struck again by how true love – the breath of my soul is never white.
The white way is never the unconditional way.
That sentence has taken me decades to form. Decode in my soul. The white way is always the popular one.
A white way of activism – change. Is to be an influencer. A well known person for this cause or that. The name. The following becomes bigger than the purpose.
What matters more – you or the work you want to see done?
“In a room the size of loneliness, my heart’s the size of love.”
Forugh Farrokhzad
Everything in the world is energy. If you don’t step out of the way – how will it flow?
Must you be the gardener of all the seeds. Or merely scatter of new?
If you continue to tend all the beauty, possessively – many will feel no purpose. No place in the result.
It’s easy to fight. Much harder to sit still. Listen. It’s easier to keep talking. To be the one. But then it becomes ‘yours’ to carry.
You have to plant seeds. Convince everyone they can be gardeners. The future. The grafter. For you’ll want to encourage new plants too. Ones we don’t even know.
It doesn’t matter if it’s homework. Labels. The importance of how we tick. How we find secureness. The injustices. The wrongness of bombs.
You scatter the seeing of new in the seeds.
You encourage the flow of energy. You don’t block the path with your own importance. Recognition.
It’s bloody lonely. But there is a countless universal flow of love. If I don’t forget in the horrors. The darkness of humanity. And block the flow.