Americans live with fear.

Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.

The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.

Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.

Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.

And then there is Putin's Russia.

The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.

Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.

Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.

M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016

Quite surprising how life can flow in perfect synchronisation?
A difficult question asked by me to myself about it's regular mobilisation
Following few odd logics to sustain as recognition
It often becomes a problem to accept all the laws of motion
The rules formulated by ourselves in the earthy life's activation
Intruders's interference without fear embarking the individual in their own resolutions
Disturbing factors of perturbations

I have nothing profound to share today. I'm sitting in my dressing gown and fleecy leggings, trying to ignore the cramps (because I couldn't possibly end this tumultuous year without heavy bleeding and ***), scrolling through celebrations of wins, the grief of losses and the hopes of a new year ready to overshadow the last twelve months. My thoughts vacillate between the joyous relief that comes with January 1st in which we feel renewed and revitalised, and a sombre heaviness with all the hurt and loneliness and suffering and continuing oppression we carry through regardless of the date on the calendar.

It has been a year of learning and unlearning and community spirit and crushing disappointments and turbulence of a kind I don't think many have endured en masse and simultaneously alone and which threatens to stretching on indefinitely.

My greatest hope is my greatest fear - change, and not enough of it. Our systems are broken and our governments' failures continue to rip at the fabric of our society and, as always, our most vulnerable are taking the brunt.

I hope for mobilisation, for everyone to find the issue they commit to help build a sustainable solution - be that food poverty, climate change, reproductive justice, abolishing the police or community welfare. This year has proven our collective power and the overwhelming need for us to act - and revolution will be ours. It's beyond time to dream bigger, listen better and work smarter (not harder) towards a fair future, building for our most vulnerable and capturing everyone else more fortunate along the way.

Our individual power is unique; our ability to change minds and create solutions and unite our families, friends, colleagues - our communities - that's where we're most valuable. Not every action must be bold and break new ground. But coordinated networks build movements - we've seen this. We need to learn from those who came before us and recognise the depth and severity of the cracks in our systems.

None of this is profound, or new information, but it doesn't make it any less valid. I hope next year brings you what you need, but I also hope you'll look beyond 12 months and build for a future we can all enjoy. Because if this collective suffering continues at the hand of individualism's ideals; if we learn nothing from our months inside, isolated, in pain, what promise can the future hold?

The grand mist surfaced.
Alone is enough in the world of lack;
revamped, reverberated,
mist with the human spleen, with the sunken chest and the tender chin,
with the bulky arms.
No produced action, no mobilisation,
no victory —
just the body
of the sordid vapour.
It’s my only wish, the one escape.
I see through the uprise wind,
borderline static,
moving heavily,
the burden of the grand mist.

Mother, where have I been?
Why was I there in the first place?
Mother, is this my sin —
to witness death in each life’s corner?
Where the grand mist arises
from its sleep,
forgive me; I haven’t found myself
on the deserted street.
Through the eyes, scavenger,
simply dormant
for another minute.