Energy

Activism

The power I have over my creations has always felt overwhelming. Ever since the early days.

I loved all forms of life equally, and tried my best not to give any of them the post of my favorite. It was hard, however. Excruciatingly hard. Specially after the first bunny came. I wanted to touch it. To be it. To jump around and rest my hand on its furry little head so bad! I couldn't, though. I lacked a hand and a body to do so. 

That is when I realized that I was the bunny. It needed energy to survive, after all. All I had to do to feel closer to it was to devote myself more and more to it.

What a fool I was.

Although still adorable and fluffy, the rabbit became huge. It unbalanced the food chain. Animals were going missing, and so were plants. The tides were not as strong and the lack of winds caused the air to be overly still and hot.

I was killing all of them by giving my strengths to that innocent creature.

Having to kill that rabbit species was one of the hardest things. It was the closest I had ever been to killing myself, because I was it. I was that rabbit more than I was the Hailey's Comet, the magma under the ground or the trees in South America. Killing that rabbit was my suicide.

I swore never to give myself like that to anything ever again, so that I'd never be forced to face death to this extent. I would never kill anything again. Ever.

Why am I revisiting this story...?

Oh yes! I remember! I had my mind in activism.

This is what I have to keep in my mind whenever activism crosses my mind. The thought of leaving those people to fight on their own was unbearable. To leave them, so suddenly, when they needed me the most!

I couldn't help them by unpowering their enemy, though. I must remain as impartial as possible (not entirely, though. I am alive, I have opinions, so seriously, never ask me to advocate. I'm a terrible judge).

Still, whenever something happens, I feel my soul overflowing with joy and strength.

New Zealand. 1887. Kate Sheppard, fighting to stop the selling of alcoholic beverages to children and against the emplyoement of women as barmaids; thus beginning her voice to make the world listen to the (so far unheard) voice of women.

I was shocked with the effects of time travel. There was no way this woman had thought of women's suffrage, when this seemed so far away from reality. This mind time traveller was in a race against time itself. And her energetic spirit won.

I did not take away any strength from the men who said no to her petition and rejected the Female Suffrage Bill both the first and the second time it was laid upon their desks. I did, however, stand right next to her, holding onto her soul's hand quietly, reminding her of the strength of her words. The impact of her actions. She knew it from the start, I could feel it. And this is what gave me hope in her activism. Not only did she know she would win the race, she had already began picturing the reprises there would be to this same marathon for rights that women went through all around the world.

I was there in 1901. In England, when the most famous women's suffrage movement occured.

When Pankhurst's words rose above the veil of misogny, they revealed the truth to all the women who stood on the sidewalk, under her window. They tore apart the illusion and showed the harsh reality. They did not tell any of those people how to fight. They told them why. Those words were what brought me to the location, in that night. Feeling such a powerful energy in that small place. Such power. So much conflict. 

Although the pen is mightier than the sword, only metaphorical blood pours out of its wounds. The police arrived, taking away their leader. This act was strong. They were taking away the sufragattes' hope. Yet I felt it. A bomb was dropped when they saw Pankhurst, entering the police vehicle with her head held high. Afraid of her future, but proud of the consequences of her possible end. This was where the energy came from.

This time, I did not even have the chance to help her. All the energy came from Pankhurst's words and the sufragattes' hope.

United States. June 28 1969. The vibrations emmited from the Stonewall Inn were different from those in the movements mentioned before. They were not sudden bombs of words and silence. Nor were they patient and unbelievable. They came from music.

The liberating music which lead the marginalized population of New York City to dance their probems away. The loud beats that dared anyone to stop them from being themselves. And, of course, the one sound that made those beats differ from the other clubs' music: rebellion.

The one greater trait that tied the people who frequented this bar together was the will to change the world. To make it better. To make it the world of the free, not only the white cisgender heterosexual males'. Free for gay people. For trans people. For people of color, for women, for both, for neither, for all. True freedom is that of which all humans can enjoy.

I am to this day dazzled by their strength. To the silence that filled the air when the first brick flew. Time stopped once more, and the beat of the music that tied those people was shown, for their heartbeats were, at that very moment, the same. And this one massive heartbeat exploded when the window crashed. That broken piece of glass was the broken prejudice. It was the start to the world they had all dreamed of for so long. It was their dream, finally come true. Their screams and heartbeats and breaths were the same when the bricks hit Stonewall Inn. They were the same when police corps came to stop the act. And they are the same to this day, in every pride parade.

Alaska. 2007. A curious group of journalists, ecologists, hippies and quackers decided to set sail on a possibly suicide mission against the U.S.navy to stop a nuclear bomb test. Their lives would depend on whether the American government would be merciful of those invading their territory.

In a recently paid boat, named greenpeace by some of the activists, the group traced their way through the waters. It was almost as if their purity of intentions and strength of decision was all that moved the little boat. Besides from a little push I had to do. Their minds were already locked to the target, so I could help by speeding it up.

Luckily, a marine ship intercepted greenpeace, keeping the heroes safe. Their journey was, howerer, thrilling news for reporters all around the world. Thus giving birth to the great heroes of ecology: the greenpeace.

Activism and never stops nudging me. Its that gentle touch in the depths of my mind, telling me to do what's best. It is, sometimes, hard to convince myself that humans need to follow their own steps. If I helped some people here and there it wouldn't matter, right ...?

I guess I need to focus on my fluffy grey bunny.