we came to the point when the very hinge upon which we valued our society to be rare was the same hinge that now sat broken. closing our eyes and walking forward felt just as stable as having our eyes wide open. nothing could be foretold. what was once comforting, now seemed a distraction.
we have been known to schlep around the idea of freedom as if because it always had been, it always would be.
we closed our eyes as the doors started to close -- and so we came to be at this point where mere conversations about the closed doors are seen as indicative of guilt and ill-intention.
by the time we arrived at this point...
so many of us were so embedded in our expectations and demands that so few of us were left to actually see with clear eyes what was happening.
there were protests and boycotts and pulpits installed in street corners - pulpits that called to be occupied by those with clear eyes.
those whose wings worked yet, begged that the sky not be restricted. those who had long since flown and now made way by foot, argued that the roads be cleared of bristles so they may walk freely.
the artists with history so vividly painted in their minds made their own pulpits. they painted colors and words on any empty space to be found. it was as if people were still aware of what color meant.
the history keepers of my generation will tell two stories - one of victory and one of loss. the latter will never be shared. but it is one of loss of vision. loss of understanding.
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