It is time. It is time for me to have the uncomfortable reckoning with myself.
Which makes me think it is beyond the time for our uncomfortable reckoning with ourselves and the tempering of the expectation that we are better than we actually are. Not that we believe we are necessarily better, but the expectation that we are (should be) better than.
I think we (I) got culturally stuck on the philosophy that only by recognizing the light, the ideal, will we achieve greatness and enlightenment – not unlike a religious cult. Then we (I) defined light/enlightenment/achievement in ways that (I) very few of us could even grab a sliver of, and attached that achievement, or lack of, to morality. I think we forgot that humans gotta human. The dark is there no matter what. Refusing to recognize it and call it what it is, does not make it disappear to be replaced by frolicking unicorn kitties in a midtown 3 bedroom/3 bath parkview apartment with weekend beach getaway cottage because we believed hard enough in the powers of sunshine gratitude and manifested the syrupy goodness with the correct yoga instructor at the best studio with the correct color scheme.
The culture of happy is killing us.
The culture of racism is killing us.
The culture of this iteration of capitalism is killing us.
The culture of nationalism is killing us.
The culture of not allowing the darkness to be conscious is killing us.
My level of overtly cultivated happiness is used as a barometer for my worthiness to hope.
My level of tolerance for racism is used to justify others’ systemic unworthiness.
My level of mindless participation in this iteration of capitalism is used as endorsement of others’ exclusivity to basic human needs.
My level of blind acceptance of nationalism is used as a weapon against humanity.
Some things are just crap. They happen(ed) or exist(ed) and they are are awful and dark because that is what they are. By not fully recognizing that they too are a part of who we are as individuals and collectively, I think I (we) have been exacerbating and feeding the dark to my (our) own detriment as if it is a mirror of morality and worthiness.
Maybe instead of therapy or a grief doula, I am looking for an accountability reckoning guide. Also, it is a million times easier to talk about theories of “we” rather than “I.” Uncomfortable reckoning indeed. Or just further ptsd wanting to find any way to take responsibility for unpleasantness so that I can give myself the illusion of being able to control it.
Fuck it – who knows? Anywho… turn off the gaslight and light up that dark shit ’cause I gots to gets my truths on, son! Waffles!
Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo