I do not look away. I feel the suffering.

I allow it in without filters. I am present, so I know that what is arising now is not the fallout of not feeling, of denial, of ignorance, willful or otherwise. What is arising now is anger, righteous anger, anger at those who see nothing wrong with causing so much suffering, who think it’s fine to fire women in positions of power, to erase the record books, leaving no trace of non-white male accomplishments, the Navajo Codebreakers, Colin Powell, the many women who fought and died for their country, all these and more.

I feel it. It burns within me. The pain, the wounds, are deep. This fire will not be appeased, will not let me look away, will not let me cool it with distractions. It rages within. It is an aliveness like nothing I have felt before. It is not something to avoid, but to invite in.

I am angry at the cruelty. I am angry at those who don’t care for the least of these, who profess to be Christians and act in ways that Jesus would abhor. So many, so very many people who go to church on Sundays to sing their Lord’s praises, and then rather than suffering the little children to come unto Him, ensure the little children suffer, taking their school lunches, their parent’s food stamps, the guarantee of an education for all, cutting their odds of growing up, let alone into kind men and women, into people who care about other people. They throw them to the lions to claw and scrape for their survival, creating the next generation of home-grown anarchists.

Yes, I am angry.

Being angry is not a sign that I have more work to do on myself, that I am caught in my own story. It is not proof that I am not spiritual enough. It is proof that I am, that I care about those who are suffering and am willing to speak up, to stand up and be counted regardless of the cost to me.

And yes, even though life is not real in the way most think, and ultimately there is no such thing as lasting harm, standing down, letting trauma and torment befall another human being, any human being, even just one human being, even if it is part of a simulation, part of an intricate exquisite illusion, part of the grand story we write together, would damage me, would make me a little less human, would begin a downward spiral into oblivion.

I am angry. For most of my spiritual life I thought anger was something to be avoided. I stood by, biting my tongue, putting a fingernail into my palm, while abuse took place, while those around me defamed others, while anger and hatred brewed.

They were just words, right?

No. They weren’t.

They were the seeds of the crop we now reap. If I don’t speak up now it will only get worse. More will hurt. More will die. More will become murderers, will lose what’s left of their humanity.

I am not overreacting, but if I am wrong about that, I would rather overreact and err on the side of humanity, of compassion and kindness, than risk one more vilified person, one more human disappeared to a work camp, one more senior losing their last hope of buying food, one more child going hungry, one more. period.

I am angry. Why isn’t everyone?


Image: Erasing History, Banksy

Amaya Gayle is the author of Actuality; infinity at play, published by New Saram Press. https://amzn.to/3Rd4CTY