I wonder when Atlas said the weight of the world was too much. I wonder if his shoulders hurt, or if it was his knees first. Was it his back that began to break, portion of spine by spine? Or was it that the heart had to pump so hard, fueling everything else, working so hard for everywhere else, that it began to fail and so did everything else? Maybe it was his hands instead, sweating from the heart rate, the weight of the world gone wrong in his hands…
I would never have blamed Atlas for the moment he shrugged, and the world fell off his shoulders.
I’m not really sure why anyone expects us, as people, to be able to hold the weight of the world especially when it’s gone wrong. We’re so afraid of letting something slip, that we don’t even notice the crack in the earth between our legs which is going to part them, inevitably, at some other point in time. I’m not really sure why anyone expects us to be able to carry the weight of the world, and yet, we try to do it on our own.
Regardless of how heavy it becomes. Regardless of how heavy it feels on our shoulders, on our backs. Regardless of the pain we feel when our back begins to break. Splitting piece by piece, fracturing under an unmanageable load. Why is it that nobody cares how heavy the world feels?
We could shoulder this burden together. It would be lighter, that way. We wouldn’t feel so entitled to our singular feelings. Of course we live individual lives, separate from experiences others have that we do not. But why can we not as the same types of beings understand that doing this together would make it so much less heavy? Why is it that we, when we learn someone thinks differently about their world than we do, decide that they’re an enemy?
Free will is pure and a gift. Why is it that we act and pretend as if it matters so little?
I believe we should treat everyone as we would like to be treated. I think that there is no good or bad, only feedback. I feel so alone and sad when others tell me that my experience is wrong, simply because of the birthright I have by being who I am.
I have felt unsafe in my body. I am unsafe from my thoughts. I wear my insides on the outside, because of others.I have felt an enemy of my own mind, as long as I am been conscious. It’s an escape room with no exit.
I am a victim to myself, based on experiences and things that have happened. And who I have been holds who I am now hostage.
Why do I have to surrender this to fight another fight for someone else? I do not relegate our fights to be separate wars — I believe we can do this together. But why is it that my fight no longer matters?
I would never have blamed Atlas if he shrugged.
Never would have blamed Lilith if she said, “enough” and, “I’m done”.
There are no words to soothe Daniel in the lions’ den as he watched the predators bare their teeth, coming towards him without savior in sight.
Where is the savior when we need one? We are here to be our own saviors. We have everything we have ever needed, yet we dislike that answer so wholly. We want to see someone do it for us. It’s exhausting trying to explain to others that we are simply here with our own free will to do what we like with it.
We are not better than one another. We are not unalike. We are not wrong or right. All we have is feedback and experience.
So why is mine worth less than others because I’m who I am?
I’d like answers before I hold another board and wonder out loud to nobody but myself.
Mary would have never said, “enough”… and yet we are still demonized for asking her why she did what she did. Or for supporting her.
