Resistance

A resistance.
Felt.
Named.
Lived.

When we open to beauty,
we also open to fracture.

To what can’t be held,
what shakes,
what hurts.

By attending to scale and place,
we begin to lift the veils
that keep us from seeing
the tragedies
woven into our time.

Then come
perplexity,
disbelief,
grief,
outrage,
resistance.

This is the world.
Vast. Complex. In motion.
Full of layers we can’t hold all at once.

Still — we are part of it.
Threaded through,
as it is through us.

Every day we co-create
the fabric of marvels and collapse,
of private stories and global currents,
entangled
in a shared responsibility.

So how else might we live?
How else might we relate?

Can an image still be love
in the face of imbalance?

What gesture,
what attention,
might allow something else
to begin?

Something felt.
Something lived.
In the body.