Geographies remember cataclysm.
Blight and storms and deforestation change the foundational makeup and memory of every existing plant, every surviving animal.
Did you know that trees, both ancient and new, speak to each other, warn of danger from distances?
That whales craft stories that span entire oceans, that orcas enact vengeance, that elephants hold death rituals?
We humans exist amongst a confused contingent of witnesses who know trauma, and experience forms of mental destabilization we have no control over.
To dismiss cellular memory; to mock the ways that trauma stays within a person and disorders their sense of safety, is abominable. It is reckless. It is cruel.
Geographies remember cataclysm and so do human bodies.
Every living thing knows trauma and trauma is always disruptive.
Let's not forget this any longer. Let's choose to refuse mockery and reckless cruelty. Let's find a better way to move forward together.
You see, we are all hungry, we’re all scared, and we are all, to a certain extent, lacking in proper nutrients, lacking in proper care. Proximity does not necessarily increase compassion or decrease dehumanization. It’s simply not enough to live next door to people who look and live and think differently. Some tables are not safe places. Some conversations are not productive. As the Internet comment sections often remind us, it's nearly impossible to debate a person into kindness. The transformation of the human heart isn't an easy process. Breaking through trauma and cataclysm can take a lifetime.
But in as much as it depends on me, I can endeavor to be a peacemaker, breaching conflict with coffee and bread. Not because this isn’t serious. Not because food is an all-encompassing remedy. But because I was once wrong and hungry and someone, many someones, offered kindness and sustenance as I found my way out of it. I learned to be less reckless, less cruel; I learned to listen.
May we all seek this grace in 2024 and beyond. May we feed one another, break bread with one another and listen. May we build longer tables and shorter fences. May we remember the hurt other people have had to endure; and may we listen to them, hold space for them, and may we cast our ballot with them in mind.
