Descendants of Fire

28 Jan 2017

Coconut trees launch from the earth like rockets hurtling towards
American fighter jets flying above, but explode prematurely into an
umbrella of branches and leaves. Inside a ring of observers, a monk sits
in lotus position on the street, as another empties a five gallon
canister of petroleum onto him. He lights a match stick over his lap and
let's go.

The hungry little fire chews at the wood as the match plummets towards a
surface full of oil like a bomb over Iraq. Like these places are meant
to burn.

An act of "protest" for the war.

Dear Monk,

You can't protest entropy? I'm a fucking law of physics.
I am become death, the destroyer worlds
I am closer to you humans than your fingers.
I see your foes through a drones camera
As I extend my arms with bullet fingers towards children
and they become what their lives are touched by:
Hallow shells
Some move like bullets never meant to be released
Aimless, but bound for destruction.
While others come back with the precision of airplanes.
And you always seem surprised!
See what you humans seem to not understand is, when it comes to the
evolution of warfare, bullets are not the children of arrows, but the
descendants of boomerangs.

But, before you jump to any conclusions,
Know that I am not evil.
Just tired from hoping.
If only you could see Humanity the way that I do.
As my daughter, laid out, shuddering, screaming stop the pain in
billions of voices.
She's been suffering from this disease since birth and it is genetic.
It is me in her, but I also see me in her heart beat.
In the willingness for humans to thrive.
I used to believe your capacity for self reflection,
your ingenuity, your creativity could save Humanity!
I used to thought your technology would bring you closer,
but time has proven that the distance between human hearts cannot be
created nor destroyed.
It is a law of physics!
A force stronger than gravity for you featherless creatures learned how
to fly,
but couldn't resist letting bombs fall on a planet you've ripped apart
out of
fear of other
fear of ugly
fear of uncertainty
fear of death
you are killing yourself.

When it comes to the evolution of your species, human beings are not the
children of apes, but the descendants of fire. They don't know how to
not be hungry regardless of how much they've consumed.

I watch as Humanity absently abandons her hand in a flame and then
screams from the pain. And I know Monk, you are her finger staring back
through the fire, refusing to abandon her.
You sit impossibly still defying what feels like a law of physics.
A symbol for the overwhelming majority of people in
Iraq, Kashmir, Palestine
Who refuse war when it walks through their streets,
selling revenge as a cool breeze after scorching their homes.
In a context like that, choosing to live some semblance of a normal life
is more than an act of non violent resistance.
It is a reversal of time
It is growing from skepticism to innocence
It is returning to mothers
It is becoming start dust
It is knowing that empathy is Humanity's nervous system
It is refusing to abandon humanity to the disease of Fear that paralyzes
her from feeling her own suffering in places like Saigon.
It is Humanity's heart,
still beating

But, there is a moment in torture when the beating heart ceases to be
ones ally and becomes a weapon of ones tormentor.

Let go Monk. It is hopeless.

After all, a picture of your sacrifice was awarded the Pulitzer prize
because of the way it could stop a bullet in mid air.
But it could not stop the war.