Talking with people who believe they are white after I marched at Ferguson broke something in me. I haven’t written much about race issues since.
That summer changed my ideas about the actual nature of racism. I used to think it was a bad habit that could be eradicated like any other – by becoming aware of it, then practicing the opposite.
Now I see that it is a sickness – a deep, spiritual disease passed down from the generations before us.
Because I know now – white people don’t hang on to their racism because they don’t know it’s bad. They know. But quite frankly, they’d rather stay on top of the social food chain.
And fighting a sickness in your own soul is hard, awful, sometimes fatal work. (Just ask someone struggling with addiction.)
You can’t cure a spiritual disease with logic. So I’ve been diving deep, digging into my spiritual roots, searching for the littlest hope that this shitfest can be turned around, redeemed. Transformed. Reborn.
This is the story I was looking for:
Once, humanity fucked up so badly it ruined everything that was good.
A thousand generations lived, suffered, and died, and nothing changed. We eked out a spiritual existence in the dark.
Then, one night in a stable, everything changed.
Advent is for those who have suffered, who have fought and lost, who are waiting in the quiet for a sign that there is still hope.
That somehow, like before, everything will change.