To find the other side of fire

Revolution is not the obliteration of hardship.

Revolution is the alchemy of suffering, of devouring the fertile bodies of the dead and rotting things with the faithful knowing that every smoky, sour mouthful brings us closer to the truth.

Buried in the dirt of desecration, our disillusionment releases its claws, and the noise of the echo chamber screams for us to run.

We grow weary of our distraction, but without it, a beastly stampede of responsibility emerges from the horizon’s womb.

What if we begin and lose everything?

What if, instead of beauty, our imaginings summon pain?

We can let the terror swallow us whole,

Or

We can lick our cracked lips, and with softened bellies, learn to savor the scent of change.

We can sing about it, write about it, paint and dance and talk about it,

Lean into the vibrant kiss of a new canvas and seduce up from the depths of our trembling disheveled innocence,

every miraculous drop of unshakeable grit and grace.

We succumb to the flames knowing full well the fire will strip our bones bare, rub mud and salve across our wounds, and rise up above the fertile ground drunk on the freedom of our reclamation.

In the ashes of what we are brave enough to walk through,

our souls weep with stories.

the soil trembles in the dawn of new life.

and beauty, however finite and scarred, blossoms eagerly beneath our fervent touch.