Objects of Fate
It was a vintage egg on my grandmother’s table for as long as I can remember. I eventually came to have a partner by that name. As the only egg of her collection bearing a word, it somehow felt an object of fated messaging whenever my eyes would land upon it during my visits. That fated quasi magical breeze greeting such visual encounters turned colder when George left my life.
When my grandmother died, and we were given our pick of her treasured eggs, I was sure to choose this one. At the time, I had designs for its incorporation in an assemblage relating to my past heartbreak. It has since been tucked in a bin of future project materials.
Today, I pulled it out. Not to indulge in creative catharsis, but to acknowledge that this fated egg has left the smallness of my personal relationship story. Where once it represented a wound in one heart, it now represents the song of our collective loss. Of a man trying innocently to survive, and of the justice necessary for us all to.
George is now the world’s.
This egg released of its autobiographical weight, and with a larger message, maybe I am inspired to have one now, too…
What I have to say today is that I stand with all humans whose skin differentiation does nothing but to broaden the beautiful spectrum of our collective painting, and I stand for accountability… They say a fish rots from the head down. What we have around us is a sacred explosion of voice in defiance of the rot that is a byproduct, if not a petulant unyielding gremlin, of the slavery model that represented the end of nature’s wisdom inside of western man — the wisdom we’ve been insufficiently grappling back mere fragments of ever since.
The pathetic err of confusing strength with control is the stuff of spiritual preschool. So may all slanders, third grade level lies, racism, bigotry, misogyny, messiah complexes, brutal shoving, shooting, choking, and all that demonstrates misplaced humanity be so blasted with truth that it drizzles forever out of the environment of our common and communal stance of solidarity, and may equal opportunity become the thread of the quilt we’re long overdue in stitching together… by no fault but the complacent or indifferent or unaffected turned heads that I am not immune to having had when I felt my own pain was all I could bear, or when my comfort on the other side of that pain did not prompt my sense of duty to bring others needing it, into me.
Here’s to George’s light. Here’s to rays flushing the ugly wounds out of those who continue acting them out instead of advancing their healing forward. Here’s to our watching nature and getting the hint. Here’s to the animals who have it right. Let’s be more like them: helping our species, committed to our species, adhering to checks and balances. Committed to not only surviving, but thriving, in unison. Like the glide of two dolphins.
They say truth always wins in the end.
So let’s maintain the stat. Let’s call up the end and upgrade delivery to overnight.
For a whole tomorrow.
💜
