a small lump forms in my throat. as i allow myself to notice it, it softens, travels upwards, and becomes sweet wetness behind my eyes. a small, doable wave of grief for the times we live in. the ugliness is borrowed from millennia ago, and also yesterday. 10,000, 25,000, the numbers of genocide roll in like box scores at a baseball game. outrage from our couches about countless women and children killed, and the realization that the men of Gaza are setting us free in real time if we look closely. flip flop feet uncover bodies from piles of rubble and uncover waves of grief the more we witness. we live-stream the killing and the torture and the abuse from the black box of electricity we hold in our hand, black boxes of electricity that are supported by the child labor of Cobalt mines halfway across the world. another genocide, another taking taking taking of human life. colonial rule sits atop a hill with the delusion that it is good for anyone. the delusion that power and control will ever bring happiness or success or any semblance of peace. the delusions we’re fed through bigger black boxes that inhabit every living room and many bedrooms, boxes that yell and scream about THOSE OTHER PEOPLE over there who are dangerous. “animals” they call them, and we forget how the language of genocide shapes our imaginations if we allow it. they pass laws about resistance, they silence anyone with good enough sense to call any of it wrong. they can’t see beyond oil pipelines and piles of cash that your safety and my safety and your freedom and my freedom are all the same; inexplicably interconnected for all of time. they can’t see that bombs are not the pathway to peace, they can’t see that all humans deserve food, water, shelter, clean air, healthcare, education, community, and play. the wailing that comes from piles of rubble and burned olive groves rings in my ears. the mothers, the fathers, the siblings saying goodbye to the martyrs of this time. i will not romanticize the mass death of humanity. i will not succumb to the idea that any of this is justified, no matter your reasoning. i will not accept the reality that this is the world we are choosing to create. we must extract ourselves from the rancid imaginations of powerful white men. turn off the tv. put down your phone. hold hands into a collective future that begins with a pause (ceasefire) and a breath. together, more towards power-with, more towards justice, equity, interdependence, reciprocity, and our indisputable shared humanity with all living things.
(laying my whole body on the earth and listening is often a good place to start).
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Rebecca (she/they) is a queer polyam human who creates space for folks to connect to more ease, play, rest, and connection with themselves and the world around them. Rebecca is an Occupational Therapist, an advanced level student with Somatic Experiencing International, and is a certified coach in the Rebloom coaching method. Rebecca has experience supporting folks in high intensity experiences and life transitions of all kinds, and enjoys supporting divided attention to pleasure in much of her work, both 1:1 and in groups.
One of Rebecca's guiding questions is "How might I embody play, rest, ease, and connection in service to collective liberation?" and Rebecca's work is inspired by the work of Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Resmaa Menakem, Mashid Hager, Irene Morning, Mary Oliver, Octavia Butler, adrienne maree brown, and Joanna Macy. Rebecca considers themselves a pleasure activist, an emergent strategist, and someone who is creating momentum within the Great Turning of our times.
With you, broken-hearted, moving towards the grief, refusing to become desensitized. Holding you and every tender heart longing for peace with love.