Brutal...

It is beautiful. 
It is brutal.
Beautiful brutality?

Skies so blue and cloudless they almost hurt to look at. 
Skies so devoid of anything you will burn in the sun
And then freeze in the night. 

Adorable desert animals.
Carrying the plague. 
Look but don't touch, or breathe too deeply.

But you have to breathe deeply.
So high above the sea the air struggles to sustain you
Strengthening your lungs, weakening your heart

We are proud of the fighters
Championship boxers have their own streets
Holm broke that girl's jaw and we cheered

We drive fast on flat roads
And die young on sharp turns
Trying to get away from something we can't name

It's beautiful there.
It's brutal there.
Beautiful brutality we run from and to

The food is wonderful.
Nourishing, filling, delicious.
So hot it will burn your eyes, your nose, your mouth

Tears streaming down you face
Nose running freely. Lips tingling as you cough
It's the best, but not for the weak and it makes us love it more

We are proud of our brutality
We are proud of our beauty
We are beautiful and brutal

How many languages spoken in one day?
You understand and duck to avoid the chancla 
Or to lean in for the besos from su abuela.

Tortillas, frybread, posole, enchiladas
Mariachi, Pow Wows, balloons in the sky
We are here for the fiestas

And the Coronas
And the tequila
And the sirens and accidents and headshakes, what did you expect?

Born and raised in brutality and beauty
I am proud of where I came from
And glad I made it out

What the...

 READ THIS FIRST!

She remembered when she had seen the notification. Gooseflesh raised on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. 

Dana had texted Denise: "Wtf is this?"

There was a screenshot attached that Kevin had liked a post of hers. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary for him to do so, except he had been dead for a week and the post he liked was the memorial she had done. 

Dana read Denise's first response, clearly she hadn't noticed that the picture of the post was the memorial because her first answer was about timelines. But she also saw the three dots meaning Denise was doing her normal, respond, think, then clarify, way of texting. One of these days she might start thinking first but Dana wasn't going to hold her breath. 

Denise: I think his brother must be using his account. 

Then a few seconds later she sent a screenshot of Kevin liking her post as well. 

Denise: Yeah, that has to be it. 

She had been relieved for an explanation that made sense and even if it wasn't that at least they were both being haunted at the same time. 

A little while later Kevin's brother posted from Kevin's account. He wanted to reach out to all of his friends and let them know how much they were all appreciated. How much the family had taken comfort from seeing how many people had loved him. So that was it.

It had been a really hard time. None of them knew exactly how to process what happened. Where to put the loss. He had been young. He had been so very alive. For it to happen suddenly on one hand and also for it to have taken a few days before they all found out made it even more surreal. 

It was a sneaky grief too. Since they were all so far apart there wasn't a funeral or memorial service for them all to put closure on. There was no gravesite for them to pour out a beer on or leave some wrapping papers and an impossible to open plastic clamshell. Just random thoughts of "oh Kevin would like this" or pictures of kittens that looked like Murph. 

Moments where you would just have to sit down and wait for the wave to wash over you. 

It had been a hard stretch. But at least that one piece had a simple explanation. 

Kevin wasn't really on Facebook. He wasn't there anymore. It was his brother. 

Simple explanation. Even if Denise had to answer, think, clarify, to get there. 

Dana wasn't sure if the voicemails she had started to get would be as simple. 

Hope...

Everyone gets the story wrong. 

The story about Pandora and her box of woes.

Even when they get some of it right, they get the rest of it wrong. 

But most people only know the barest bit of information.

Pandora had a box with all the world's woes. She wasn't supposed to open it but did. Releasing everything bad. But there was one thing that was left in the box. And that was hope. 

So first let's deal with the misogyny that the whole myth is based on. 

That's the part people skip to get to the box and the hope part. 

Pandora was the first woman. 

Her entire reason for being created was to cause turmoil. That's part of the myth. The bros the gods had created first were just hanging out having a good time, drinking and relaxing, but not really doing anything. There was no reason to do anything. Everything was already good. 

The gods like their drama so came up with the idea of adding a woman to the mix. 

A woman.

One. 

Drop one woman into a group of guys and let nature take it course. 

Then men would fight to get her attention. Drama would ensue!

But what if it didn't? What if, because everything was so relaxed and chill adding Pandora to the mix would just be...well...cool. No drama needed. What if this group of humans decided that competition wasn't necessary. That there didn't need to be one big dude winning her. Maybe they would decide that people aren't prizes. Aren't things to be won. That they could all just get along and what ever happened was natural and no need for jealousy. 

Well, that wouldn't be good entertainment at all.

The gods like it messy. 

So they crammed a bunch of horrific things into a jar (later translations turned it into a box, but it was a jar) and sent her with it. Gave her a healthy dose of curiosity to her personality and then said, "Oh, by the way, don't open the jar. (wink, wink)"

Because you know they wanted that fucking jar opened. 

Same problem I have with the biblical mythology around Adam and Eve. Okay, so you created these beings that are intelligent and want to learn everything and you put a tree in their midst that will give them knowledge and tell them don't eat it. 

Why plant a tree with that fruit? I mean, you're the one who made the whole shebang right? So why put that tree there if you just wanted happy fun time Barbies to play with? Or if somehow that tree has to be in creation why not plant it someplace else? You know, not in the garden where you put your people?

And, yeah, the misogyny is baked in there as well. That wicked Eve being the one to eat the apple. 

Wicked Pandora opening the jar. 

Out fly all the bad things. 

Now the world (no matter which myth you follow) is filled with wickedness and it's all the woman's fault. So we have two explanations built into one. The reason why there is evil in the world and why women suck. 

So yay...

But with Pandora there is that last little bit. That bottom of the jar one thing left piece. 

Hope. 

Oh here is our moment of peace with the story. 

Yes, there is all of that wickedness in the world but there is also Hope. Don't lose Hope. We all have Hope. Hope will make it better.

But...

Why was hope in a jar full of bad things?

Why would they get all of the horrible things they could think of to make the world messy and dramatic and more entertaining for them to watch and then toss in hope?

Could it be because hope isn't actually a good thing?

Think about when you hope. 

You hope it's going to get better.
You hope things are going to change.
You hope nothing goes wrong.
You lose hope, you have hope, you are hopeful, you are hopeless. All centered around either getting out of a bad place or not wanting a good place to end. 

Hope isn't a good thing. 

Hope is what you have to convince yourself that everything that sucks will change. 
Or that everything great won't. 

Hope is what makes poor people play the lottery. 

Hope is what keeps people in terrible situations.

Hope is not an action. 

Hope is the thoughts and prayers of getting shit done.

 

So Pandora's jar didn't have hope in there by accident. Hope was in the bottom of the jar because it's the heaviest. The weightiest. The worst of the bad things. 

Because hope feels like it's a good thing. 

And that's even worse. 

I hope you feel better. (because right now you actually feel shitty)

I hope the weather is good tomorrow. (because odds are it's going to be shitty)

I hope I get a promotion. 
I hope I win the lottery.
I hope I hope I hope...

What a horrible thing to let out of the jar. 

The feeling that shitty things could get better without doing anything except hoping.
The dread that good things are not going to stay that way so you hope.

Hope isn't a positive.

Or maybe... 

Maybe it is.

Maybe Pandora put it in there herself when she saw she was being set up by those assholes on Olympus?

Maybe as she was getting her gifts from each of the gods, (Pandora is the one with all the gifts, it's her name) there was a pause after the wisdom portion. Maybe she overheard them cackling together about what a mess she was going to cause. Maybe she looked around the joint and saw that little packet of hope just sitting there. Shining brightly because the gods had no reason to not have hope. What were they missing? They were gods. Everything's coming up Mt. Olympus! So hope would be fat and sassy. EVERYTHING was full of hope and good cheer. 

So a quick snatch and grab and shove it in the jar of disasters. Pull the nasty bits over it to hide the glow and BOOM! Hope is at the bottom of the jar wondering what the hell just happened. The gods send her to earth. The dudes are like, cool...she seems nice. 

Pandora opens the jar, not because she's overly curious but because she knows that she's totally fucked up the plans of the gods who were setting her ass up to be the scape goat for...well...EVERYTHING.

She opens the jar, the evils of the world escape. The gods wring their little devil hands in joyous mischief and sit back to watch the world slowly burn itself up. AND THEN...

Pandora takes one look toward the heavens. Opens the jar again. The glow starts out low and then grows as hope climbs up to the opening and flies free. 

Pandora drops the jar and "HOPE OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Hope becomes part of Pandora's plan then.

The gods never intended for us to have hope. Hope was all theirs. Fat and sassy and shiny. Always good things for the gods. Hope was not something they ever intended to share. 

It was Pandora's fire moment. 

Because hope can keep us warm. Keep us moving. Get us motivated. 

Hope is the spark that leads to the deeds that moves us out of the thoughts and prayers moments and into the action. 

So which story do you like? Which version?

I think everyone gets the story wrong. 

The gods didn't give us hope. Not at all.

Letter From an Aging Black Sheep...

Dear Flock,

I wanted to write to you today to say I get it now. I understand a few things. I've figured it out. See I've spent my whole life thinking you hated me. That my very existence was a problem. That what you would like to do more than anything in the world was to shear my coat and make me look just like the rest of you. And that because, even under my coat, I was different you hated me.

Now that I'm older. And I'd like to think wiser I see that it was never me that you hated. Sure you hated that I was there. Yes, you hated that I was so unwilling to be shorn. And when shorn I was unwilling to wear your coat. But you didn't really hate me.

You hated that I showed you a different possibility.

Without me you could say, "It's just the way I was raised." or "We are who we are. That's all that we can be." But then I came along and I was raised the same way. I was taught the same things. I was steeped in the same life. And yet...

Without me you had the comfort of everything being the same. There were no jagged edges that didn't quite fit. Everything was smooth because no one thought it could be another way. No one ever thought to turn left down the road you always turned right on. No one ever even considered there was another way to go. Because everyone was raised the same. Everyone was the same. And yet...

When I wasn't the same you took comfort in the fact that eventually I would be. Everyone comes back to the same flock. There is comfort in ritual. In the collective. In knowing that every where you turned, everyone you talked to would tell you the same thing. That you were right. And yet...

When I would say, "But what about..." I was shut down. "You don't know everything so stop." When I would argue, "I know! I know I don't know everything, I want to know more!" You would say, "Stop. You know what you need to know." And yet...

So now I look back and I realize that you acted like you hated me because it was easier than hating yourself.  It was easier to say that I was a know it all instead of wondering why you weren't more curious. It was easier to dismiss me as wrong than to consider I was right. Because I made a different choice I showed you that you could have as well. I showed you that it didn't matter how you were raised, what everyone else said, what the expectations were, you could turn left instead of right. And you didn't like that.

It was easier to say, "She's the black sheep of the family" instead of saying, "Maybe we don't all have to be the same."

And I think the most unforgivable part to you is that I'm not sorry. You wish for contrite when I give you confident. You want me to miss the shearing and I revel in my skin. You want me to admit it was a mistake because then you would have been right all along. And yet...

So now I understand. I'm the black sheep. I'm the problem. I'm the issue. Because if I wasn't then it would have to be you.

And yet...

I'm happy.
And I wish you were too.

Signed,
The Black Sheep