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THE PROBLEM IS

THE PROBLEM IS (Mostly written on the train, traveling as invited to the Fetzer Institue – Oct., 2008)
The problem is, you see me as so different.Not you at all, thus incomprehensible.
Never clear, the mind searches corridors introduced during your original tour—designed as the ultimate distraction for tourists trying to see the natives by staying out of the village life.
You were told that you are not a villager and surely, not a native.Not native to anything?Anywhere?Anyone?
You’ve forgotten the taste of blood/the smell of urine unfertilized/the slick feel of skin never yet washed or the care in washing it for the last time.The not-you-ness swells dangerously large filling every orafix.Thus, you can’t pull in or secret.No conscious exhale or pause in response to the caw alert – right above your head.
Someone else must supply your colorful language, your out-of-control fucking.Cause its just not you to go there….and, if you get out of line to partake in the feast that your ancestors prepa…

I join you!

As most of you know, I'm not one for writing "a piece" in response to every act of terror that we witness throughout our world. I tend to be moved instead to specific action and to increase my work in dispelling lies of superiority and of inferiority - of separation. I tend to focus my energy in efforts to assist in strengthening the justice warriors.

In general, it is not so much my way to pontificate. But, every once and a while I must join in writing my utter outrage and my deepest sorrow. I am so sorry to be living in a world where this man walked into a room and shot people down out of a delusional belief that he and his deserve life more than those he killed. My lungs constrict, unable to perform their function as I watch the one sitting in the seat assumed to be the highest in the land express his sympathy with a wink - a wink that we can all see, whether or not we are a part of his intended posse. My heart explodes with pain to know that Musli…