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DIVINATION FROM A ONEIROMANCER
The future. Who could say, with certainty, what it holds. After all, she is such an arbitrary mystery, shaping herself to be unique to not only each planet, each burning star, but also to each inhabitant on earth- breathing or deceased. If you’re lucky enough to be in tune with the universe and the flow of fate, you may be able to dig up a few nuggets of what they have in store for a person, but only the future knows what she is.
That being said, I’m willing to cast a few bets on what awaits.
The future… what I see when I close my eyes and ask my dreams for what it will look like in a decade or so from now, I see crowds of black fists in the air, restless and bubbling for the justice they’ve been denied time and time again. Millions united, so tired of letting the years go by without an answer. Warriors battle-scarred, having crawled, not unscathed, out of a time of pestilence and unrest. A generation who have seen cruelty rule over them, seen just how detrimental to a human life corruption and hard headedness can be. In ten years’ time, that battle should be coming to its climax. The end of the chapter that will be written into history books by the ones they were fighting for.
And the ones studying the history books, you may ask me? What lies beyond 10 fleeting years? What will be there when you and I have long stepped our final foot-fall? When ‘2010’ sounds just as distant as ‘1810’? What will the generation centuries into the future be facing? Will they be basking in the glow of a wonderful utopia, the evils of capitalism long gone, with a political system that functions finally in place? The only mentions of ‘the poor’ and ‘the 1 percent’ from cautionary tales of the past?
Or will this all have been for nothing?
And that’s the question I’m not too willing to cast any bets on, I’m afraid. But I’ll give you my two cents.
I think that whether or not there is life to inhabit it, the earth will spin on ‘til the sun decides to die and take everything else with her. The only thing you can predict is how you put one foot in front the other until it’s time to stop your walk.
Take any and every path you can. If yours is a quiet stroll, where you take stops to soak in where you are, if you linger on each new step, much more for deciding to change your direction, if you stomp and march and sprint and move with fire so long as it is the righteous path you storm down, walk well, and walk.
Because that’s the only thing sure for every second that will come forward.
That we will walk. We will run.
We will move.
“family... friends... faith provide little comfort to me when I find myself asking; What do I do with this part of myself?
that I have yet to claim. ”
My Cup Runneth Over
The gaps in my identity
No longer colonised
With the art that despises me
We are loved and cared for
Protected but for real this time
Our humanity is art
Our art is gold
Sealing the cracks in each others' cups
Tea made of exposed tree roots
But they refused to cover them
Leaves plucked, bark skinned
We were nothing more than resources
Vilified and hated
We no longer have to prove our worth to anyone.
Least of all, corporations that only cared about us once a year.
These hierarchies that have continued to fail us.
Time and time again, betrayed.
Nothing left but us, our compassion... love.
I am plucking fruits from our garden.
Persimmon, soursop, and pomegranate
I cut them and tenderly place them in your hands
I am beaming because we made it
Our cups are overflowing.