All the words have already been said.
All the feelings have already been felt.
I suppose we need to say them all and feel them all again. And again.
Until the words and feelings
Transform our thoughts
And propel humanity
Toward a new dimension of empathy.

Fear of otherness is woven into the strands of our DNA
Like tendrils of a parasitic vine
Strangling our ability to love
But we are malleable, autonomous beings
Who, time and again, momentarily override fear
With compassion.

We may be tired of words.
We may be numb to feelings.
But perhaps we need them more than ever
To flood out the fear and the false ‘otherness’
With a soothing rain of acknowledgement.
Self-reflection.
Humility.
Unity.

Will our species ever shed the burdensome shells of conditional love
That says you who are like me deserves life more
Then you who are different?
This impaired reasoning only leads to violence.
It holds us back.
It pushes us down.
Yet we are addicted to the rush.

There are glimmers of hope, of change, of defiance
Against this antiquated rationalization of why
Some lives are worth more than others.
I hope/pray/wish/live for a transformation
Of what it means to be human
On a planet where we now know everything is connected
And our love or hate can travel on a spec of wind-borne dust
To be breathed by someone halfway around the world
Whose lungs burn with the same desires as our own.

It always comes back to love.
The quaint, too simple, cliched answer,
Which is the answer because we know it in our hearts.
Love does not always come easy
Even if its roots travel as deep as fear.

We bury our yearning for love
As if it were a shameful secret
To shovel over with dirt
And instead seek love’s deceitful impersonators:
Attention, approval, validation.
Meanwhile the kernel of love lies dormant
In the soil beneath our feet
Patiently waiting to blossom if ever
We are ready to nurture it.

I’ll keep saying words
I’ll remain open to feelings
(Grief, joy, anger, sadness, exasperation)
Because that’s all I know how to do.
But I will recognize that my words and my feelings
Are not superior to those of others
And in fact are nearly indistinct from those of any ‘other’
Below the shallow surface of my
Conditioned worldview.

Love it is; and it will always be
Waiting for us (I hope not in vain)
To fling off our battle-worn armor
And pour ourselves into the earth
So that it may sprout upward, outward across the world
Embracing our tender souls
With the thing we all so deeply crave.