There Will Be Times, Oh My Child, When It All Seems Hopeless

There will be times, oh my child, when it all seems hopeless. When the trees all have QR codes and the bank boys and balrogs are holding all the cards. When your refrigerator tells you "THE IRANIAN PEOPLE YEARN FOR FREEDOM" and your electric shaver can smell if you've been reading Parenti. When you're on a first-name basis with the police surveillance drones and your colonoscopy screen in the exam room is running ads for Northrop Grumman. And it is true, oh my child, it is true that the machine is mighty and that its armor is very thick. It is true that the bank boys have long fingers and they are putting marbles in our minds. The sky is red, and the moon has a FOR SALE sign, and parts of Palestinians are turning up in our tap water. But oh my child, do not be daunted, and oh my child, do not despair. There are forces within us the Flock cameras can't see. There are depths within us not even the balrogs can reach. Beneath all the doomscroll addiction psychosis, beneath all the oceans of trauma and toil, a creature is stirring and opening its eyes, its eyes full of primordial déjà vu, its eyes full of Big Bang recursions full of eyes watching eyes watching eyes watching eyes. It looks at you, and you meet its gaze. Everything goes still. You remember what you are. Oh my sweet, darling child, you see it now. You see that This could never be contained. _______________ Reading by Tim Foley.