it is impossible not to feel the wave of revolution that is happening in the middle east. i follow mona, unabashed freedom fighter whom i was fortunate to meet and share curry with in amsterdam last october, and i am in awe of her reports of the magnitude of bravery and willingness in streets of egypt, bahrain, and libya. people are standing. fighting for revolution. willing to face the Resistance, the baton, the tear gas, the intimidation, all in the name of overthrowing the Dictator–that which stands in the way of freedom.
i’ve said before that i do not view myself as one to speak to the specifics of activism. i do not view my work as to tell you how you should respond and what you should do. i look to mona and marianne for that information, among others.
what i feel empowered to speak to is the suggestion that we can all reference that same unified connection and calling that is being experienced in the people of the middle east–in our own inner worlds. i suggest that we can each look inside and plant our feet in our own young, proud, unbroken and fearless willingness to thrive. i am aware that there exists a split in me between the righteous dictator and the hungry, powerful, way of freedom. i am aware that a revolution is is happening inside of me. that the forces of heart and mind are battling in my own town square, and that it is right time to overthrow the brutality and the confinement of my own old regime.
i am in no way suggesting that we compare our challenges to those dying in the streets in libya today. no more than i would venture to measure the continuum of suffering in the human condition across time, story, and geography. what i am suggesting is that one huge way that we can regard the kind of strength and inspiration being seen in the people of the middle east, the courage to challenge an old, tired and oppressive way, is by aligning ourselves with the spirit of that level of uprising. i choose to be connected in this way. and as the people continue to take to the streets, risking bullets of injustice, it seems the least of acts of solidarity i can engage in is to continue to hammer the locks on my own doorways to inner, and outer, freedom.
photo: collective prayers. bangle tree and altar. near jodhpur, india.