Rose B. Simpson

Dear capitalism, dear patriarchy, dear modern existence, dear Rose,

This, right here, is charged with truth. One that watches in silence, patient with our plunder. Nonjudgmental of our blunder. Because it knows. It knows with a vast confidence that once in a while we may be available to channel; become the look that spans eons, be the chuckle.

There is a tickle to it. What we thought was doom is birth, and we may not know it yet. Hang on.

This is either awakening or apocalypse, depending.

There’s a beginning to this end. Foreground recedes, what is background becomes pathway. There are endless dimensions. Perspectives. Overturn what we have understood to find an entirely new way. Is this the way out or the way in? It isn’t a maze, it never was; it was a beautiful journey.

May we proceed with a careful hand. May our lines be conscious, dedicated, careful, and aware.

Step and sway. Eat and nourish our bodies. Decide slowly. Allow the spirits to exit, enter, for one of them is you. There is an escape from this, an entry to that. Our spirits know the road. Always a way to freedom. We will do what it takes when the time comes, we will learn to listen for direction.

This reckoning is going to be joyous.

Just you wait and see.