It’s a warped world we are living in right now. This afternoon I started crying and couldn’t stop. Sophia is still sitting at my feet, snuggling, soothing. Nothing set me off. There was no particular reason.

I’m blessed. I have seen through the ruse. I am in on the cosmic joke. I am aware of what this is, what we are, and still, even amidst that recognition, perhaps because of it, the character I am in this collective story is heartbroken. She can’t grok why we are so desperately wounded, so incredibly maladjusted, that we rape and kill one another and yet, are still capable of finding ways to justify our thirst for blood, the violence that we cheer on, that we are numbed to.

Maybe the tears fell for no reason at all, but just maybe they poured out because of the Rape Academy and its 60 million hits. Good God — who the f*ck are we? How did we ever come up with a school that teaches how to drug your partner unconscious, rape them, video tape it and share that video with other sick bastards?

Maybe my tears fell because of the explicit sexual deep fakes that so many young girls are being traumatized by — estimates of 1.2 million girls and women (mostly girls) around the world having their pictures turned into X-rated video and stills. Schools doing little after the fact. Boys facing little to no consequences.

Maybe they fell for the thousands who have died in the Middle East, and the thousands more who will, since our government started its distraction war, its what did they say, oh yeah, a whole civilization will die. We were all left waiting for The Bomb to drop, for WWIII to begin. It was kind of like waiting for my ex to come home drunk, having no idea what he was going to do when he opened the door — praying for a car wreck, for something anything to intervene.

Maybe the tears fell for the 325,000 dead, 1.2 million casualties in Ukraine; 75,000 dead in Gaza … genocides happening across the world and the overwhelming sense of helplessness, of no way to stop the insanity, and the incredulity raging at the decision makers we sent to DC., the ones who can’t do anything to stop the wars, who won’t do anything to stop the grift, the same politicians who seem to have no trouble sending more aid to Israel.

Perhaps the tears fell because of the now unavoidable day to day stress that is more and more obvious by the moment, on our highways, in our grocery stores, at the gas pumps, in the rigidity of division, the palpable hate, the constancy of vigilance … no one can move through life without being on alert all the time. All of us are getting a taste of what it feels like to live as a woman.

Maybe I could not hold back the tears because of the obscene trickle coming from the Epstein files, the lack of anyone being held accountable, the total willingness of our leaders to accept and protect pedophiles and rapists, to turn their backs on the young girls — women now — living with trauma, dying without justice, the clear message to all women that we are not valued.

There are so many maybes, too many to maintain the nervous system in any semblance of okayness, so many that tears are bound to leak out if we haven’t sacrificed our humanity in order to get along.

There is no separation. There is not two, me and the abuser, me and the abused, me and the mangled and dead, me and those pulling the triggers. When someone is harmed, we are all harmed. When someone is treated cruelly, we are all guilty. We feel it whether we recognize what we are feeling or not. We know this.

We. Know. This.

Deep within we stuff the pain, we shut the doors to our humanity, we willingly forget, choosing not to remember that I am you and you are me. We can close our eyes, but the body knows. We can shut down our hearts, but the body feels. We can feed the ache in our guts, but the truth is still here.

It does not go away. It will not go away until we address the fallacy, this silly painful insane heartbreaking belief in separation.

Image: WordPress AI

Amaya is the author of 7 books, the latest Actuality: infinity at play. It is available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and IngramSparks.
Actuality: infinity at play by Amaya Gayle Gregory, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®