Zeitgeist mental anguish
The sensitive ones are going down.
The ones who feel the Gaza Strip
searing
in the nerve endings
of their neck.
Panic attacking.
Hyperventilating with the inhumane.
Beating hearts bombing
human body synching
with the unbearable,
flight, fight,
freeze.
1 in every 65 children
in Gaza are dead.
13,000,
57 died from hunger
since the blockade on March the 2nd.
The sensitive ones are going down.
Nervous systems, nervous,
reacting, contracting,
suppressing, depressing,
collapsing.
Anxiety high,
falling into depressions
from which we cannot rise.
The sensitive, the special ones,
are back on the meth pipe,
back on the bottle,
heading hard into their own hell.
The young are departing by their own hands.
The old ones are slipping away in their sleep.
And Bob Marley’s son,
pro-Israel, sings here with no irony,
“Could we be loved?”
Who have we become?
When even freedom songs
become laments
of hypocrisy.
Our politicians,
seeking election,
fuel racism
with every inflammatory
word
finding kindling
in kindred racists,
referendums on Te Tiriti
anti-co-governance
in the name of unity.
For us,
it’s a forest fire out there
raging.
Natives are the first to go.
Brown bodies
marked
as moving
political targets.
And all those who chose
to work within the system
to change it,
are in the firing range,
nervous systems burning.
The sensitive ones are going down.
The special ones,
are backpedalling out of the world,
are re-entering the psychiatric wards
descending back into madness.
Our beloveds,
our broken hearted,
are choosing to leave,
so they don’t have to feel any of this.
They cannot stay.
For those of us who can.
For our beloved trans whānau,
takatāpui, our young men,
our women, our tamariki,
our sensitive ones.
We are called to be
the sane,
the sober,
the stayers,
the holders,
for all those who
just.can’t.right.now.
We will be the new normal.
For all our wounding,
for all our fear,
we will not operate from there.
We will still ourselves
enough to feel steady.
We will resource ourselves
enough
to have something to offer.
We will stand
with those who are suffering
on every side
in ways
that do not betray
justice.
And for,
and from,
all depression
we will rise.
And for,
and from,
all anxiety
we will soothe.
Even if it just means choosing to stay,
choosing to pray,
choosing today,
to be-here-now.
Because the sensitive ones are falling.
We must make our own
slow-paced way,
along the long arc of justice,
up that steep incline,
marching
peacefully,
following the feet
of giants who walked before us.
We must break open
and open
and open,
until we see the soft eyes
of the other,
and truly look.
We must hold everyone we love tight,
and love everyone we fear,
more,
than we think we can.
We must create a world, a country, a city, a community - that you want to live in,
That welcomes you and your suffering, you belong here.
We will hold and help you
we will see ourselves
in you.
Your suffering
is my suffering.
I am you.
And you are me.
We are one.
Because the sensitive ones are falling.
And, I,
I,
I,
am a sensitive one.
